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Chapter Text

"How late do we have to stay at this dreadful event?" Draco drawled close to her ear, wine glass dangling from his fingers. If anyone else were to look his way, he would appear perfectly polite.

It was a skill he had that she had yet to master.

Pursing her lips, Hermione sliced a potato on her plate in two. "We're probably fine to go around half nine."

If not for the fact that tonight's event was an important crowd, she imagined they would have left already. But they both held prominent enough positions in the Ministry that the visibility―if not the networking―would be of value.

Draco's pause spoke loud enough, and her eyes slid to him. She could see the resignation, the misery, the utter boredom he could conceal from everyone else.

Everyone but her.

"Cheer up," she muttered, "we'll get shortbread later. Promise."

With a huff, he sank into his seat but didn't raise his voice beyond the pair of them. "I'm not a child. I don't simply forget how bloody horrendous something is when you taunt me with sweets. They're doing karaoke soon. Fucking karaoke, Granger. I'd sooner cut off my own bollocks with a dull machete."

Hermione snorted at the visual and speared a bite of the potato with her fork. "Then perhaps you'll remember that this night is important and I shouldn't have to remind you not to be petulant."

She expected him to pout. She was used to him pouting.

For as long as they'd been friends, and even before that, she'd known Draco Malfoy to pout when he didn't get his way. He was an expert at keeping a straight face, wearing his easy, casual respect like a cloak that she could see through better than anyone. But when he wasn't happy, she always knew it.

It was a blessing or a curse, but rarely both at once. Tonight it was a curse.

Tensing when his palm landed on her thigh beneath the table, Hermione's jaw froze on a bite. She forced herself to resume chewing, took a sip of wine, set down her fork.

"Not a chance," she whispered under her breath.

He ignored her, smoothing his hand gently along the fabric of her dress. His thumb slid towards her inner thigh, fingers inching up the hem of the skirt. "Bored," he drawled softly, playing small circles against her skin.

Hermione forced herself to take another bite.

"Important," she hissed again, but her voice wavered. His lips twitched with a smirk.

Twisting his hand, he drifted his fingers inward, a teasing massage of the skin of her inner thigh. It was enough to make her falter, for her next breath to fall a little heavier.

For heat to pool; for moisture to gather.

He only breathed, "Let me."

It was another of his convoluted games, and one they'd played before. Though she'd be lying to say she hadn't been the instigator at least once before.

Above the table, Draco took a sip of his wine, expression fixed with the same mildly disdainful look he wore at most Ministry functions.

But his fingers drifted along her skin, slipping under her dress and charting a path for her knickers. When Hermione didn't immediately discourage him, he carried on, grazing the damp fabric between her legs. Slowly, he clicked his tongue, just low enough for her to hear him.

"Someone's a little too horny for a Ministry gala," he whispered, mocking, barely above a breath. "Naughty, naughty girl."

"Whose fault is that?" Her own words sounded too frail.

She knew she ought to tell him no. He would respect her wishes―he always did. But Hermione couldn't find it in her to resist. She clenched her core, arousal building low in her belly.

"Yours, obviously," he retorted. "One would think you would value the opportunity this night presents more highly."

His seeking fingers nudged her knickers aside, trailing through the moisture between her folds, one of them drifting to her clit.

Her mouth went dry. "I must be a terrible employee."

And ever so slightly, she shifted, spreading her legs just enough. It was the consent he sought, enough for both of them to know the game was on.

"Best be careful," he drawled, making slow, teasing circles on her clit as she picked up her fork once more and took a bite. "I'd hate for anyone to wonder what you're up to. On this most important of occasions."

His finger found her cunt, sliding in at such a leisurely pace that she knew instantly he meant to make her suffer. His finger hooked, curling inside of her to press against her inner walls.

A tight breath fell from her lips. Instantly, she slammed her mouth shut on the quiet moan that sought to escape. She clenched around his finger, and he slid another one in.

His thumb found her clit, stroking once, twice, then circling again. His fingers thrust into her, nudging against that spot inside her.

A flush clawed up her chest and throat, on full display with the moderately low cut of her dress. Her cheeks flared with heat, jaw grinding with the effort of keeping a straight face.

Draco was an expert at this. She had always worn her heart on her sleeve.

Or in this case, her arousal.

He thrust his fingers into her a little harder, a little faster, with a little more intent. "I know you wouldn't dare come at a table full of your colleagues," he said quietly, his tone conversational, as though they were discussing the latest joint collaboration between their departments. "I can't imagine what that would say about your commitment to advancing in the Ministry."

A bead of perspiration formed at the corner of her brow. One of the men across the circular table―an older gentleman from Transportation―glanced her way; Hermione offered a warm smile and took a sip from her lemon water.

Beneath the table, she rolled her hips just slightly, inviting his ministrations deeper. "Surely," she whispered, "your dedication could be called into question at this moment as well."

His fingers slid through the moisture pooling between her legs. He bit down on his lower lip, the only concession to what he was doing, how it affected him.

Hermione knew if she reached for him he would be rock hard.

It was all part of this particular game, and the risk of it got him off more than almost anything.

"Miss Granger," said a middle-aged woman three seats down. "I hear we're to be expecting some new legislation from your desk this coming week. Mister Paulsen says it will be quite riveting."

She plastered a smile on her face, ignoring the slight twitch of amusement on Draco's. "Absolutely," she returned, her voice a little breathy, her nod a little stuttering. "As you're aware, we've been working with the werewolf rights coalition in Bristol. I think you'll be impressed by what's come of it."

Draco offered the woman a thin, indulgent smile, his head cocked as though to say, 'Isn't my friend brilliant? Isn't she making strides?'

Beneath the table he carried on, his pace steady as he teased her clit without mercy.

"I expect I will," the woman returned with a chuckle.

Hermione took a deep drink from her water, her cheeks hot. Breathing a little too heavily, she glanced away, pressing herself more firmly into Draco's hand. If the self-righteous prick though he was going to edge her here―

As if he'd heard her thoughts―and she knew her Occlumency walls were sound―he slowed his pace, from brisk and purposeful to gentle and light. She bit down hard on the sound of frustration that nearly escaped. She clenched around his fingers, trying to find her climax despite his best efforts to hold her back.

She didn't care to beg. He wanted her to beg, and she didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

But she longed for release.

"Surely you haven't forgotten how to get a woman off," she said under her breath, shooting him the barest glance. "Because it almost seems as though―"

His fingers thrust into her hard. Curled inside of her, dragging against the flesh of her g-spot.

Caught off guard, a quiet cry fell from her lips. She took a quick swig of water when the woman's gaze returned to her, and Hermione offered a mild expression as though she didn't have Draco Malfoy's fingers inside her cunt right now.

She didn't have to look at him to see the smirk.

Slowly, his thumb met her clit again, playing her flesh like the notes of his own sinful instrument. "Do you want to get off?" he asked as though inquiring after the weather. "Because I could drop under this table right now and eat your―"

"No," she whispered. "Merlin, no."

His grin spread, but to anyone out of earshot they might have been having a pleasant conversation between friends. It certainly was no secret within the Ministry that they'd become one another's closest confidante.

Her eyes fluttered at the feel of his ministrations, all-encompassing in the back of her mind, and it took everything within her to keep her face blank as the bead of moisture broke and began a slow trail down her temple.

"Warm in here," she said with a bit of a laugh, swiping it away.

"It is, actually," Draco returned, loud enough for the rest of the table to hear. "Thought it was just me."

The older gentleman's brows lifted. "Now you say it, it is quite balmy."

Setting her utensils on the tablecloth, hands shaking too badly to cut her food, Hermione gazed briefly across the room. As though something intensely riveting had caught her eye.

Her legs tingled, core clenched tight around his hand. Taking pity on her, Draco resumed a steadier pace, drawing her closer and ever closer to the edge she longed for. No matter what else, he wasn't cruel.

And he always could play her like a fiddle.

Every part of her tensed, anticipation flooding through her. With one final thrust and curl of his fingers, another brush of his thumb on her clit, her climax struck, sweeping through her in a sudden, overwhelming coil of pleasure. Hermione's eyes fluttered shut and she bit down on her tongue so hard she tasted the metallic tang of blood.

Heavy breaths fell from her lungs, and she drew several measured breaths in an effort to settle her heart.

Thighs trembling, she leaned back in her seat and forced herself to take a drink of water despite the quake in her hand.

"You truly don't look well, Hermione," Draco spoke to her left, every bit the attentive friend. "Perhaps you're coming down with something."

A knit of concern formed between his brows, lips pulling into a frown as he withdrew his fingers from her folds. She shifted, her core throbbing with the after-effects of her orgasm.

Draco kept his hand under the table, turning his full focus on her.

She almost believed his worry.

Pressing the back of his other hand to her brow, he exclaimed, "Merlin. You're burning up."

"Oh dear," said the woman three seats down, sympathy clear in her tone. "Perhaps you ought to take a trip to St Mungo's just to be certain you're alright. We'll make your excuses to the department heads for you."

Draco nodded, throwing on a brave face. "I really think that's for the best. I'd hate it if it were something serious and we just sat here." He glanced at the woman, ducking his chin. "Perhaps I ought to go with her."

"Of course," the gentleman said, waving a hand as though to shoo them both away. "It's only a dinner, after all."

Gracious relief swept across his face, even as Hermione forced an uneasy close-lipped smile. "Too right you are," Draco clipped, shaking his head like he couldn't possibly handle the thought of something happening to her. "Come along, Hermione. I'm taking you to the hospital and I refuse to take no for an answer."

He was laying it on thick, but their company lapped it up with anxious nods.

Rising to his feet, Draco offered his clean hand to her, helping her to her feet and ushering her from the hall with another winning smile.

Hermione ground her jaw, unable to even look at him until they cleared the threshold into the empty corridor beyond.

His head swivelled towards her, grey eyes utterly alight with mischief and victory, then he lifted his hand to his mouth and sucked her juices from his digits, one by one. A slow smirk dragged across his face.

She scoffed and shook her head, a smile of her own fighting through as she looped her elbow around his.

"And now that I got us out of that abysmal event," he drawled, nudging her in the ribs, "I believe someone promised me shortbread."

Pressing her eyes shut for just a moment, Hermione dragged him towards the Apparition point.

He was right, and she wasn't one to back out of a promise.

It all started with a kiss.

For years, they'd been friends. The lingering post-war animosity had gradually drifted towards something like tolerance during their eighth year at Hogwarts, when the majority of their year decided they'd had enough anger and hatred.

Draco, fresh from his Wizengamot trial and acquitted on very thin ice, had been both introverted and resigned to something different.

And when Hermione extended a sceptical olive branch, to her immense surprise, he took it.

After Hogwarts, as they both settled into life and careers beyond school―both finding their way into low ranked positions in the Ministry of Magic―their friendship began to flourish.

It wasn't that Hermione wasn't friends with Harry and Ron any longer―but both of them had seized the chance to enter the Ministry straight after the war rather than returning to Hogwarts to complete their NEWTs―and the elements of survival and trust that had guided them for years slid to the wayside.

Eventually, Ron had left Auror training to run the joke shop with George, and Hermione couldn't deny that things were simpler when she wasn't at risk of running into him in the corridors every day. Their brief effort at something following the war had never made it off the ground―not after she realised she viewed Ron more as a brother than a romantic interest.

Subsequently, their friendship had been stilted ever since.

But Draco understood her on a level that the others never had. He liked books and studying and getting into heated debates until the late hours of the morning, the pair of them fuming at each other from opposite ends of the sofa in the eighth year common room after everyone else had already gone to sleep.

Once she came to know him better, in the years following Hogwarts, she'd discovered more.

He had a fierce protective streak. He was a loyal and dedicated friend. And he wanted nothing more than to move on from the past that still haunted him.

Hermione, exhausted from years of fighting, had been more than willing to let bygones settle in the dust behind them.

"I need a favour," Draco had announced one day when they met for tea. He gave her one of those looks, wide-eyed and beseeching, and though she knew better, she sighed.

"What is it?"

"I have to go to an event. A wedding―the son of a friend of my mother's." He eyed her, carefully assessing her reaction. "And I need to bring an escort."

Hermione lifted a single brow, confused. "Why not take Mikayla?"

"We broke up." He ground his jaw, scrunching the bridge of his nose in a way she recognised. "She is the very last person I want to take. But she'll be there, and I can't show up alone. Just as friends, of course."

"Of course." Because for all their time as friends, neither of them had ever made any indication of wanting something more. "But she knows we're friends, and she'll know I'm not really your date."

His brows lifted, that facetious innocence coming across his face again. Hermione sighed, shaking her head as she began to piece together what the favour actually was.

"Okay, look," he said, lifting a placating hand. "I just want her to think we're there together-together. Nothing untoward. A couple small touches should suffice."

"Draco," Hermione said, releasing his name as a long, drawn out exhale. "What on earth am I meant to do with you?"

His returning smirk was answer enough.

So she had relented and attended the wedding of her best friend's mother's friend's son―and pretended to be genuinely interested. Mikayla had been suitably annoyed, Draco suitably pleased, and Hermione, after a few too many glasses of champagne, had confused herself as to the reality of the situation.

After the wedding, both of them too intoxicated for anything akin to rationality or logic, Draco had kissed her, and they'd snogged against her front door for several minutes before jolting back to the present.

The next morning, bloodshot and dishevelled, he arrived to apologise. After cleansing the air of the awkwardness that still lingered, they agreed their friendship was too important to mess it up.

And neither of them had mentioned it―until a month later, when Hermione dragged him to Harry's birthday party, and after, they'd ended up in bed together.

Although the parts of the night she could recall had been great, Hermione feared what might become of their existing dynamic if too many other things were to get in the way. Things like feelings and jealousy and all the complexities that went along with a relationship.

In their early twenties at the time, they both had active dating lives.

At some point in time, it just became a thing they did when they were both single. Although it evolved in a few different directions, exploration and experimentation and, at times, nothing more than mutual stress release, they never again brought up that conversation.

Now, several years on, they were both content to carry on as things were.

Hermione glanced up at a knock on her office door, smiling when she saw Harry. Peering into her office, hands in his pockets, he asked, "Are you free?"

"Yes, of course." Hermione set her quill down, rising to her feet. "What do you need?"

He sidled through the door, leaning on the frame. "Pans and I decided to host a bit of a get-together coming up. Next Friday night, if you're available. Neville is bringing Theo―officially."

A grin spread across her face at the thought. "Those two finally admit to their feelings?"

"Yeah." Harry smiled in return, glancing down the corridor before closing the door behind him. He folded his arms, stepping closer. "Let Malfoy know? I don't know if you two are..." He made a face, offered a weird shrug-like motion. "Whatever you are."

Hermione fixed him with a look. "Friends, Harry. Draco and I are friends." He still looked uncertain, and she couldn't blame him, but she didn't care to get into it today. Not when they'd had this discussion before―several times. "I'll let him know. I'm sure he'll want to come along too. He's been giving Theo a hard time about Neville for months."

Shaking his head, Harry released a chuckle. "I suppose we give you and Malfoy a hard time, too."

"Yes," she mused, "you do."

Appropriately chastened, Harry nodded, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. "I apologise. I suppose you two are just close in a way that most people don't recognise." It was an interesting way of putting it―but not untrue. Relieved, Hermione nodded. "We'll stop bothering you two about it."

She eyed him for a moment, then released a sigh. "I don't mind. I know my friendship with Draco isn't exactly orthodox, but... it is what it is."

And if they were a little closer than most friends could claim, there was nothing for it. It's all they truly were at the heart of things. Facing doubt from their closest friends grated a little, but she could only speak the truth. No one else needed to know what went on between them behind closed doors.

Harry let out a dry chuckle. "Sometimes I think back to our years at Hogwarts and I try to make sense of how all this happened. Pansy and I together, you and Malfoy best friends. And now Neville and Theo."

Tilting her head, Hermione considered the thought. "We've certainly allowed some snakes into the lion's den, haven't we?"

"Unfortunately so." He grinned, peering down at some paperwork on her desk. "How's the world of magical creatures?"

"Busy." Massaging her temples, Hermione followed his gaze. "Our team has just finalised some legislation regarding the accessibility of Wolfsbane―particularly for young or newly turned lycanthropes―and of course, plenty of people have issues with that for a variety of reasons."

Harry frowned, shaking his head. She knew it was a cause dear to his heart as well, in light of his connection with Remus Lupin. "I have faith that you'll get the legislation through."

"Thanks, Harry. I'm sure we will." She eyed him for a moment. They rarely had time to speak these days, just the two of them. He'd been engaged to Pansy Parkinson for the better part of six months, and she spent the majority of her free time with Draco. "How's the Auror's office?"

"Oh, you know." He waved a flippant hand. "Same as usual. Always idiots out there trying to start trouble."

Although he minimised it, Hermione knew he was a vital asset in the DMLE. He'd put more than his share of dark wizards and generic troublemakers behind bars in Azkaban in the years since the war.

Harry glanced at his watch and edged towards the door. "I'd best get back to level two. See you next Friday―come by around eight?"

"We'll be there." She felt confident enough in speaking for Draco as well, when she knew how infrequently he went out. "Thanks, Harry."

Flashing her another grin, he slipped from the room. Hermione released a sigh and sat at her desk once more.

Moments after Harry left, Draco strode into her office without knocking. "What did he want?" he said by way of greeting.

Hermione laid down her quill, resigning herself to a lack of productivity. "We're going to Harry and Pansy's for a gathering next Friday night."

He shrugged, then sank into the chair across from her, propping his boots on the edge of her desk. "That sounds good." He peered around the office, interlacing his fingers. "I have a proposition for you."

She sighed, eyeing him for a moment. His tie was slightly askew, and she reached across the desk to straighten the silk. "Fine." She leaned back in her seat. "Let's hear it."

"We should live together." His stance remained flippant as though he hadn't made a suggestion that would greatly impact both of their lives. It was one of the strange, disarming things he did. "I'm so bored living alone. And you're over often enough that it just makes sense."

He had moved out of the Manor almost two years prior, purchasing himself an elaborate high-class flat instead.

Although she instinctively opened her mouth to reject the idea―so many of his ideas were borne of a whim and not considered in any depth―she froze. He had a point. And if she was honest, it wouldn't hurt to share living expenses with someone else.

"I can't afford your flat," she reasoned, folding her arms. "I can barely afford my own."

Draco waved a dismissive hand. "My flat is fully paid for. All we'd need to worry about is the monthly expenses." He eyed her for a moment, eyes lingering on the curve of her chest beneath her blouse. "And we'll be a room apart."

At the implication behind the words, the heat in his eyes, she shifted in her seat, squeezing her legs together. Briefly, her mind recalled the way he'd touched her at the Ministry dinner the week prior.

"And if one of us starts dating someone?"

Hermione hadn't met anyone in a while, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. One of the many unspoken agreements within their situation was that they didn't touch each other if they weren't both single, and neither of them were allowed to complain.

After all, she wanted his happiness as much as she wanted her own, and if he met someone who would give him that, she would shelve whatever it was between them. But he hadn't dated anyone in a while, either.

"We can sort out some ground rules," he said, jaw clenching into a hard line, but he didn't elaborate. "You don't need to decide now, but give it some thought. I think it could be a good thing."

If she was honest, she'd already sifted through the many benefits. They didn't always get along, but they hadn't yet had an argument they couldn't work through, and she did miss seeing him regularly.

"I don't need to think about it." A wry smile tugged at her lips, heart racing at the impulsivity of the decision. She didn't care for living alone, either. "Let's do it."

His answering grin flashed with genuine delight, and he leaned forward in his seat. "Great. Come over tonight and we'll figure out the details?"

Chewing on her lower lip, Hermione nodded. They'd made it through plenty to this point, and she had no doubt they'd get through anything else life sought to throw at them.

"Good," Draco clipped, rising to his feet. He shot her a wink. "I'll pick up a bottle from the Manor's cellars. I'm sure a few rounds of celebratory sex are in order."

"An arbitrary decision," she returned, snickering, "but you're probably right."

Draco smiled. "Of course I'm right."

Then he slipped from the room.

Hermione moved in that weekend.

Chapter Text

Draco had been brooding since she arrived at their flat after work, only a few days after she moved in.

"Why are you such a grouch today?"

Slumped on one end of the sofa, Draco gave a noncommittal shrug. "Bad day, I guess."

When he didn't elaborate, Hermione turned to face him, tucking one foot beneath her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"Is it work related?"

Fixing her with an exasperated look, he sighed, swept a hand through his hair, dropped his head dramatically back onto the sofa. "Of course it is. You know how hard the department's been riding my arse―and not in a good way."

"You don't like anything in your arse."

"Besides the point." The bridge of his nose scrunched up before he straightened in his seat. "It's nothing. Just stress. If I want to be a part of the delegation they're sending to Brussels coming up soon―never mind if I want to be selected to give a presentation―I need to figure out a lot of things fast."

Hermione eyed him for a moment. "If anyone can make it happen, it's you."

He snorted, wry and self-deprecating, but a hint of warmth edged into his face all the same. "As much as I appreciate your confidence in me, it isn't that simple. I'm not the most qualified, and you know Barnett likes to make trouble for me at every turn."

Although she hated the way some of the senior members of his department treated him, even years after the war―and with Draco's blatant efforts to change things around readily apparent―he didn't like her to dwell on it.

She gnawed on her lower lip, reading the anxiety that lingered in the tightness around his eyes. "Okay," she said, quiet and teasing. "But all this moping is bringing me down. It feels like that time one of the Manor peacocks died."

"Merlin, no." He fired her a scowl for daring to bring it up.

"Fine." Dragging the word out, Hermione turned to face him again. She lifted her brows. "How about a blowjob?"

Draco appraised her for a moment, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. "You know I'll never turn that offer down."

She shifted towards him on the sofa, offered him a smile, and reached for his jeans. She slipped the button, drawing the zipper down, and met his stare as he adjusted his position, pulling his jeans to his knees.

Hermione reached into his shorts, pumping his already semi-hard cock in her palm as she met his eye. "I mean it, you know. I have faith in you."

His next breath hitched. "I know you do. And I appreciate it."

She eyed his impressive length as he grew rock hard under her touch, shifting to her knees on the floor. A smile curled her lips as he watched her―he never took his eyes off her when she went down on him.

Leaning in, she dipped her tongue out to taste the tip of him, the salty bead of precum that had already accumulated. Stroking his silky length, she wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock.

Draco groaned, fisting a hand in her hair as he dropped his head against the back of the sofa.

She swirled her tongue around him, planted a kiss to the underside of his cock, dragged her tongue along his firm length. Slowly, she pumped him in her hand, allowing her nails to just graze the steely flesh.

"Tease," Draco hissed, his breath falling laboured. But far from an admonition, the word was closer to admiration. It was how he liked things best.

Drawing a breath in through her nose, she relaxed and took him fully into her mouth, basking in the low string of curses that tumbled from his lips. She sucked on him, hollowing her cheeks, and withdrew, before sliding him fully into her throat once more. Falling into a rhythm, fisting her palm around the base of his cock, she focused her attention wholly on him, her other hand toying with his balls.

"Fuck, Hermione." His voice rumbled through her, stoking her own arousal as she sped up, sucking him, swallowing him, taking him deeper into her throat. His fingers tightened in her curls, his thighs tensing under her. "You're going to make me come."

Hermione hummed her approval, never letting go of him as she sucked hard on his cock. He rolled his hips, thrusting into her mouth, when she only intensified her movements, he came with a groan. His hot seed spurted into her mouth, coating her tongue and the back of her throat, and she swallowed it down, pumping him through the orgasm.

He stared down at her, mouth still wrapped around his cock, his eyes reverent, until she came off him with a pop and licked her lips.

A slow smirk dragged at his mouth. "You," he drawled, lifting his thumb to brush a spot from the corner of her mouth, "are incredible."

Hermione tucked him back into his shorts with care, then shifted back to sit on her knees beside him. "Are you feeling better?"

He tugged at her curls. "Much. You're a real friend." A teasing grin spread across his face, and Hermione laughed at the words. "Thank you."

"I'm not entirely sure friends give each other blowjobs," she whispered, eyes fluttering at the sharp yank of her hair. "But you're welcome."

"The good ones do." They grinned at each other for a moment, his eyes still a little glassy from release, before he dropped a hand to her jeans. "Are you turned on?"

"A little. But it's fine."

Draco scoffed. "It isn't fine." He made quick work of her fly with deft fingers, already sliding a hand into her knickers as he pushed her jeans down her arse. His fingers found her clit, playing circles around the tender flesh, and he drawled, "A lot."

Hermione sank back onto her heels to allow him easier access, planting one hand to his shoulder to stabilise herself. He knew how to get her off quick―he'd proven that time and again―but he took his time, sliding two fingers into her cunt, and she clenched hard around him.

He drove into her, teasing, curling his fingers against her inner wall. Her eyelids fluttered, already feeling her culmination approach when his thumb found her clit.

Hermione buried her face in his neck, breaths falling heavily against his skin, as he worked her into release, her orgasm crashing down and escaping from her lips with a cry.

She clung to him for moments after, her vision smoothing out once more, body searing and alive with pleasure. She lifted her face, meeting his eye, and a soft smile lingered on his lips as he withdrew his hand from her knickers. He slapped her hard on the arse, catching her off guard, and a surprised laugh broke free.

"What would I do without you?" Draco murmured, smacking a wet, obnoxious kiss to her cheek.

She beamed at him. "I have no idea, but I can only imagine your life wouldn't be nearly so good."

He barked a laugh. "Not even close."

As much as she enjoyed spending time with Draco, his particular brand of snark became a lot to handle every so often, and it was nice to see the rest of their friends.

Harry and Pansy had been together for close to three years now, having fallen into each other's orbit after Draco and Hermione left Hogwarts as friends―and subsequently brought the rest of their circles into the mix. They'd all ended up in a jumble together―and Hermione didn't think anyone was surprised that Neville and Theo had decided to make things official after the way they'd acted around each other for the past year.

"Hermione," Neville said with a broad grin, pulling her into an embrace, a plastic cup reeking of alcohol in one hand. "It's good to see you."

She hugged him in return, then drew back with a smile. "The same to you, of course. How is Hogwarts treating you?"

"Hogwarts," Theo said, sidling up between them, "keeps him too busy." He flashed Hermione a grin, then gave her a brief one-armed hug. He turned to Neville, eyes soft. "But it's the right place for him."

Neville's fingers entwined with Theo's, and he brought the other man's hand to his mouth. "Hogwarts is great. The plants are great, and the students are great. Fortunately, I've been able to connect my quarters to the outside Floo network so we're able to see each other reasonably often."

Beaming at the two of them, Hermione sipped her drink. "I'm glad to hear it. And about time, honestly."

"Speaking of." Theo cocked a brow. "I hear you and Draco just moved in together?"

"Oh," she said, taking another large swallow as surprise lanced through her. "Just as flatmates. It only makes sense with the amount of time we spend together―and you know Draco has nightmares if he's alone too often."

Amusement danced in Theo's eyes, but he only murmured, "Right. Nightmares."

Draco chose that moment to approach on her other side, lifting his glass to the group in greeting. "What's this about nightmares?"

"You and Hermione living together," Neville quipped. He exchanged a look with Theo that Hermione followed, uneasy. Most of their friends made no secret of their group belief that the two of them would end up together. Hermione supposed there was a thread of validity to it―it just wasn't as they all thought.

And none of it was malicious in nature, so it was easy enough to take the jabs in stride.

"Ah." Draco took a sip of his drink, smoothing his other hand along Hermione's spine. His fingertips drifted only for a moment to the curve of her arse where no one could see. A shiver lanced through her at the gentle contact. "If you're referring to Hermione's manic organisational routines, I agree with you. Have you seen the way this woman does laundry?"

She elbowed him in the ribs, firing him a scowl. "Compared to how you reorganise your entire bookshelf every Sunday in case one title is out of place?"

"That is true," Theo said with a snicker. "I remember him doing that back at Hogwarts in the dorms."

Pansy shoved through the small group at that moment, flinging her arms around Hermione then Draco. Harry followed along in her wake.

"Look at all our friends," she announced, "moving on with their lives together." At that, she shot Draco a pointed look, pursing her dark red lips.

Draco released an aggravated sigh as he drew her briefly close. "Hullo, Pans. I'll have you know my career is going swimmingly."

"Sure it is," she purred as she retracted into Harry's arms, long nails drumming on her plastic cup. "And what about your love life?"

In a weak effort to contain a laugh, Hermione thinned her lips in a tight line. The two had picked on each other for as long as she had known them, but ever since Harry and Pansy got together it was dreadfully one-sided. Hermione only found herself dragged into it every so often.

For an instant, his gaze slid to her―so quickly she didn't think anyone would notice.

But he only offered a wink and a low, drawled, "A gentleman doesn't kiss and tell, Pans."

Pansy burst out a laugh. "Well, someone let me know if you see one of those around here."

For the better part of half an hour, Draco's gaze had flitted between her and the book in his lap. Hermione released a sigh and looked up. "What is it?"

Some days she regretted that they lived together.

A knit formed between Draco's brows, eyes tightening with thought. "Do you know what cockwarming is?"

"No. Am I supposed to?"

He waved a dismissive hand. "I don't imagine so. Theo mentioned it, and he heard about it from Pansy who apparently made Potter try it with her."

Hermione blinked at him. "And what is it?"

"It's..." He grimaced, trailing off. "I'm given to believe it's rather literal."

Turning the thought over in her mind, Hermione made a face. "Warming as in, inside―"

"Yes."

"That's just sex, Draco."

"It isn't," he corrected, lifting a slender brow, "because there isn't any friction."

"Friction."

"Right."

She eyed him for a moment, then asked, "And why are you bringing this up?" At the look on his face, a little too bright-eyed, a little too innocent, she sighed. "You want to try it."

"Maybe." He gave an odd sort of shrug. "You want to keep my cock warm, don't you? I don't know if it would feel good or torturous."

Despite herself and the stack of paperwork she meant to get through prior to tomorrow's departmental meeting, she couldn't help her own curiosity.

"You know, if you had a girlfriend you wouldn't need to ask me to try out new sexual positions with you. She could warm your cold cock for you."

Draco rolled his eyes. "And you know I don't want a girlfriend. Besides, you're willing to try things most women aren't."

"Flattered," she huffed, but shook her head and set aside her paperwork. "Clothed or unclothed?"

Loosening the knot of his tie, Draco eyed her clothes. "Your choice. I imagine you'll be more comfortable if you're showing off at least some of that gorgeous cleavage." His mouth twitched.

Although she scowled at him, Hermione tugged her camisole off, cheeks flushing when his gaze swept the lace of her bra without shame. Then she slipped off her jeans, waiting while he removed his clothes. He was already halfway hard, and she allowed herself a moment to admire his thick endowment as he gave himself a few solid tugs.

Hermione approached him on the sofa, her knees nudging his as she stared down at him. "So I just climb on."

"Knickers," he said, tugging at the waist of her underwear. "And yes."

"Facing you?" she asked, tugging the fabric down her legs and straddling him on the sofa. "Or away?"

For a moment, he only blinked at her, his jaw tightening. "I don't know if it matters. I suppose you can decide if you want me to rub out your clit." He thought for a moment, then added, "On second thought, face me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Is that part of it?" she asked. "External stimulation? Or are we just meant to torture ourselves until we grow bored of it?"

Draco raked a hand through his hair and shrugged again. "I imagine we can make it up as we go. Theo wasn't exactly thorough in explaining it."

"Why was Theo talking to Pansy about this in the first place? Isn't that something he should discuss with Neville?"

"Fuck if I know. You know how those two are―always gossiping about the strangest things. Are you wet?"

"Wet enough."

Firing her a look, Draco reached between them, his fingers finding her clit and grazing the sensitive nerves. "Wet enough isn't wet enough." Heat flashed in his gaze as his fingers dipped inside of her and his voice dropped low. "Your delicious pussy deserves better than that."

Hermione snickered, even as her eyelids fluttered. Sometimes she wondered if he could get her off simply by the way he talked to her―the way he always knew how to tease her pleasure out was a bonus.

She could hear the arousal in his voice now, her breaths escalating at the decadence of his touch. "Okay," she whispered, repositioning her knees to either side of him. "You aren't meant to get me off."

"Okay." His fingers withdrew, and because she knew he couldn't resist, he licked her juices from them one at a time.

She could never resist watching.

Taking his hard cock in her hand, she positioned him at her entrance and slid down. They both groaned at the initial feel of it, him stretching her, filling her.

"So," Hermione said, her voice a little breathy, "this is it."

Draco blinked at her, as though he hadn't fully worked through the logistics of it. "Yeah." His voice was gruff as he nodded once. "I guess so. We just... warm."

The sensation was odd, and it took some effort to actively keep herself from moving, from riding him to her own release. It felt wrong―and staring at him, their hips connected, skin flush, felt intimate in a way she hadn't anticipated.

It was always like this.

Discussing something new one or both of them wanted to try, as though it were clinical and boring. But the act itself was always anything but.

Her skin grew warm, and she looped a hand to the back of his neck, toying with the fine blond hairs at his nape. She ground a little, seeking the friction against her clit, and he hissed.

His hands came down around her hips, holding her in place. "No moving."

"None?" she murmured, resisting the urge to pout. "This doesn't exactly seem like it would be... enjoyable for long. How does it feel for you?"

"Painful," he grit through his teeth, then added, eyelids fluttering, "Glorious."

Instantly, she regretted agreeing to this.

Draco lived for the tease. For the edge, the precipice, the almost there.

He basked in it, indulged even. In the denial of release they both knew she longed for, and that he had the ability to withhold.

She knew, even if she wanted to forsake the game this time around, to fall into something so easy and natural, he would draw this out for as long as humanly possible. No matter how much he wanted to drive up into her, to bring her hips down hard into his own, he would refrain to both of their detriment.

Her breathing grew heavier, her body desperate for something beyond the tightness of his cock embedded in her folds.

"So are we meant to properly fuck, then?" she asked at last, leaning a little into him for support. She couldn't tell how long they'd been like this―it was as though time had begun to blur.

Draco released one of her hips, bringing his hand up to squeeze her breast. "I don't know. I suppose we could once we're through." He pressed a kiss to the swell of her cleavage, accessible at this angle. "Fuck, your tits are incredible."

She preened at the compliment, arching slightly towards him, desperate for whatever stimulation he would give her.

Sucking at her nipple through the fabric, he released a soft groan. His teeth raked the sensitive skin, biting down around her nipple. A cry fell from her lips and she pulled at his hair, manoeuvring his head closer.

He tugged her bra cup to the side, teasing her breast in earnest. It was one of his favourites to give―and her favourite to receive. Palming the swell of her cleavage, he continued his slow exploration of her flesh, winding his tongue around the peak.

She could come just like this―she had before, under his delicate care―and she ground against him unbidden. His remaining hand on her hip tightened, even as he rolled into her, just slightly.

"Fuck," he huffed under his breath, tensing again. He diverted his attention to her other breast, as if to distract himself from the fact that neither of them were moving. A hint of perspiration formed at his hairline, and his attention on her breasts only intensified.

"Draco," Hermione whispered, and his name came out a little like a prayer. "I don't―I can't."

"You can," he returned into her flesh, dragging his tongue between her breasts. He reached around her back and released the clasp, almost absentmindedly, like he'd grown tired of working around her bra. "Merlin, I'd love to fuck your tits."

She moaned at the thought, and managed a tight, "Put it on the list."

"Honestly," he said through a mouthful of her breast, "surprised we haven't."

Hermione shifted against him, seizing the moment of his distraction, and his grey eyes drew up to meet hers as his lips came off her nipple with a pop. A teasing smile tugged at her lips and she ground against him once more, lifting herself up just a little before sliding back down.

Draco continued to stare at her, allowing her a few more miniature thrusts, before he drawled, "I don't know whether I'm meant to punish you. If this is that sort of an activity."

His words made her clench. "We didn't set a safe word."

"We didn't." His hand dropped down to smooth the curve of her arse, palming the flesh. "If I spank you?"

A groan pulled from her throat, guttural and raw. "That's fine."

He ducked in, his warm breath ghosting her neck before he whispered, "For being a naughty, disobedient girl." Then his palm came down, enough to sting only a little, but a jolt of pleasure darted through her.

Draco knew her well enough to know exactly how much pressure she liked. And he was the only one she trusted well enough to treat her in this way.

"And if I still don't listen?" she breathed, looping her hands around his neck as she drew off his cock a little higher.

He caught her arse before she could drop back down and take his length into her again; their eyes met as he held onto her. Just the tip of him was inside her, and his eyes tightened with the strain. "I don't know yet," he admitted with a smile. "Maybe I won't let you come?" At the look on her face, he corrected, "More spanking."

"More spanking," she echoed, a moan falling from her lips when he released her and she took his length into her core once more.

Sucking hard on her nipple again, he smacked her arse. Then again, a little harder.

Hermione jolted forward into him with a cry. Waves of desire pulsed through her as she pressed her forehead against his, her fingers grazing his cheekbones. "Let me," she whispered, her lips just close enough to brush his.

They were always careful with kisses. It felt both arbitrary and insignificant, when they had done so many things to each other.

But they weren't together―despite the ways their friends liked to tease them. None of them even knew the extent of how much they'd done, and Hermione suspected they wouldn't understand. This worked for them―and although she loved Draco as a friend, and she loved the feel of him inside her―neither of them had ever broached the idea of making something real of it.

They were friends.

That was the end of it.

But friends didn't share passionate, romantic kisses. So she asked, tasting the mint of his toothpaste on his breath as his lips remained close enough to kiss.

Draco closed the gap in answer, his mouth finding hers, their tongues tangling in an instant. As though forgetting himself and the game, he ground up into her, thrusting, and again, harder, drawing her into a deeper kiss.

"I need us to fuck," Hermione breathed against his mouth, snagging his lower lip between her teeth. She didn't want to say please―not if she didn't have to.

He hesitated a moment longer, and she knew well enough the way he was weighing the options. To carry on with this infernal tease, or to seek his own release in her cunt.

The latter must have won out in the end, because his hand returned to her hip, easing her up and then back down onto him, and then faster. Hermione could have let out a cry of relief, allowing herself to ride him in earnest. His mouth remained close, brushing hers, and he tilted her face so his tongue could probe her mouth as she slammed down onto him in a swift pace.

He reached between them, his thumb circling her clit as he kissed her, as full of passion as the way he did everything else.

And Hermione was breathless for too many reasons, most of which she knew she could never unpack.

She took him into her again and again, his hard, solid length meeting the deepest parts of her. As her breathing grew ragged, sweat forming on her brow, her orgasm crashed over her in wave after searing wave. Her vision darkened, a low cry swallowed up against his mouth.

Then in a swift movement, Draco rolled them on the sofa, her on her back beneath him, and he drove into her. Each thrust was hard, punishing, dragging her through her orgasm and already stoking the heat of desire within her again.

"Another one," he whispered, meeting her lips again and again, his kisses growing increasingly desperate. "Give me one more."

He bent her knee up into his chest, driving still deeper and drawing together her fragile threads.

"Yes," she gasped, already her pleasure reforming into something just at the edge of her grasp. "Fuck, Draco."

When he found her clit again she was gone, tumbling over the cliff to the sea below. Climax raced through her again, scarcely separate from the last, and he came with a groan, tensing as he filled her once more.

As they came down, neither moved, breaths heavy and loud in the now otherwise silent room. He stared at her, still buried to the hilt inside of her, their naked bodies flush.

Draco brushed a damp curl back from her face, his fingertips grazing her cheek. "I'd say that worked out," he drawled with a winning smirk. "Check for warming cocks."

"Check," she echoed in a whisper, smiling up at him.

In times like this it would be so easy to draw him near, to hold him until sleep took them both, their bare bodies twisted and entwined until they were hardly separate at all.

He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose; her heart jolted in her chest.

Then he withdrew from her, and she could feel his juices mixing with hers amidst her folds.

Hermione pressed her eyes shut, mellow and sated, and melted into the sofa. She cracked one eye open when he stood, eyeing his softening member, the chiselled curve of his arse.

When he slipped into his shorts and trousers, digging around for his shirt, she fumbled for her wand to clean up.

Draco shot her a crooked grin before he slipped from the room, and she took her time in dressing, her body still singing from the force of her release.

Whatever else came along with their friendship, it served her just fine.

Chapter Text

Her heels clicked on the hard floor, an echo clattering down the corridor in her wake. A few people glanced up as she passed, but Hermione had long been a fixture in the Ministry that no one questioned her presence in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures often required international approval with projects.

She stopped outside of Draco's office, peering through the open doorway to find him at his desk. The knot of his tie was loose, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and his blond hair was, predictably, a mess.

Although she rapped on the door frame, she didn't wait for a response before slipping into the room and taking a seat in the chair opposite him.

He glanced up, hardly acknowledging her. "What is it?"

"What's got you so twisted up?"

Releasing a sigh, he yanked a hand roughly through his hair and set his quill down. "This Brussels trip." Doleful eyes lifted to hers. "If I don't absolutely nail this report I won't be going."

"Then nail it." He scoffed, unwilling to offer her a response, and Hermione sighed. "I mean it, Draco. You're more than capable―and everyone knows you're the best candidate. If you put your best into the report there's no way Barnett won't pick you."

Draco's shoulders slumped, uncertainty lingering on his face as he pursed his lips. It was one of the things she valued most about their friendship―that he never tried to put on a front with her. And that she knew he was always honest, no matter what. She never had to question what was or wasn't real between them.

"What did you need?" he asked, rolling a kink from his neck. "I could use a break from this anyway."

Hermione slid a sheet of parchment across the desk towards him and Draco lifted it up, peering at the fine script. "I'm trying to make arrangements to meet with a vampire coven in Budapest and I need approval with the Hungarian Ministry to bring a team there."

His brows flickered with mild interest. "Vampires. Sure. I'll make the arrangements." His grey eyes landed on hers, a trace of amusement dancing within them. "Don't get yourself turned."

Snickering, she sank back into her seat and peered around the office. Visiting Draco at the Ministry was always a bizarre experience. He kept one photo frame on his desk with two photos―one of himself with his mother, and another from when the two of them had visited New Orleans two years back to learn about the natural forms of magic practised there.

It was a photo of them, grinning and drunk, wound up in multiple strings of beads at Mardi Gras.

She always wondered why he'd chosen that photo to keep on his desk―when it was the least professional either of them had ever been―but she liked the photo and the memory enough that she didn't want to give him any reason to change it out.

The rest of his office was decorated with several plants. On the shelves, hanging from the ceiling, in large pots at the corners.

It always felt as though she'd walked into a conservatory rather than an office. She suspected sooner or later their flat would fill with plants as well.

"You know," Draco drawled, pulling her attention back to him. "If I get selected for Brussels, I'll be gone a full week."

Hermione smiled. "I know. A whole week without you cluttering up the flat."

He pursed his lips, unamused. "I am abnormally tidy." Then he rolled his eyes, leaning forward in his seat. He glanced to the hallway, and with a wave of his hand, the door closed of its own accord. "What I was going to say was that you should come along."

The comment caught her by surprise―the offhandedness. Which only confirmed the thought that it wasn't offhand at all, as Draco was rarely offhand about anything.

"I'll have conference sessions most days, of course, and an event the final evening," he went on without waiting for a response, "but the rest of the time is free."

"I can't just―" The words stalled in her throat as she glanced at him. "You're serious."

A slow, easy grin pulled at his mouth. "Yeah. Why not? We haven't gone anywhere together in a while. You can stay with me."

A lump caught in her throat, and her gaze drifted again to the photo of the two of them. The utter joy in their faces. Maybe she understood a little better why it was that photo.

"You don't even know if you're going to get selected," she murmured, forcing the rampant pulse of her heart to slow. "You literally just said―"

"Help me." A smirk pulled at his lips. "If you go over my report before I submit it, it'll get selected."

Despite herself, she smiled. "Fine. Merlin knows I've got enough holiday time stored away. It would be nice to leave London for a few days."

Draco's grin widened. "Good girl. Now let me submit your request with Hungary so I can finish my report."

"When is Brussels?" She rose from the seat at his desk, nearly colliding with a tall plant with long fronds. "I know you told me, but―"

"Six weeks from now."

She made a mental note and offered a stuttering nod. Still, her heart beat a little quicker at the thought. "I'll leave you to it. See you tonight?"

He nodded, already picking up his quill once more. "I'll bring home takeaway. Thai?"

"Thai sounds perfect." She smiled and slipped from the room.

If there was one thing she had learned about Draco Malfoy over the years, it was that he was a snob about food. A strange fact utterly at odds with the fact that he rarely enjoyed cooking and only did it as a means of subsistence.

But it meant he had certain grocers he preferred over others, and to Hermione's great surprise when they started to live together, all of them were Muggle.

"We need bread," he drawled as they walked the aisles one evening after they'd both left work.

"Rye?" Hermione asked, ambling towards the bread aisle. "Sourdough? Brioche?"

He scrunched up his face. "Sourdough. I think." As she reached for a loaf, he clipped, "No. Not that one."

For five minutes, she waited at his side as he sorted through each loaf, digging to the rear of the shelf for the freshest one. Momentarily, he changed his mind to a loaf of rye bread―and then changed it back.

Shopping for groceries was never a simple affair, and usually required she set aside an entire evening.

"Cheese," he drawled, as though he hadn't wasted ten minutes in the baked goods department.

"Chevre," she announced. "I'd like some chevre."

"We had chevre two weeks ago."

"So? You enjoyed it."

He pursed his lips as though he might insist upon something―despite that he usually never cared about how much he spent at the shops―but then he drawled, "Fine. But the sort with the fruit preserves on top. And some of those whole grain crackers."

Fixing a forced smile onto her face, she nodded and made for the cheese cabinet. One of these days she would refuse to go along with him, and it would take him well into the night without her to wrangle his impulses.

Abruptly, Draco released a loud sigh. "If we're getting chevre with crackers, we ought to put together a proper charcuterie."

"Oooh," Hermione murmured, resigning herself to the event this was about to become. "We had that great prosciutto from the deli last time."

"It was fantastic," he agreed, then added, "pickles. Dill or sweet?"

She pondered the question for a moment. "Dill."

"Grapes," Draco drawled, nodding. "The Concorde variety."

"They're out of season."

He scowled at the trolley as they backtracked but selected a bag of red grapes all the same.

Sometimes Hermione wondered how exactly this became her life.

"Am I lousy at cunnilingus?"

Hermione nearly choked on a sip of tea. She set the cup on its saucer before turning to face him with a raised brow. "I know that didn't just come out of nowhere."

Draco shrugged. His eyes remained on the book in his lap, but at length, he dragged them up to meet hers. "I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Why?"

The bridge of his nose scrunched up with distaste. "Because there was this one time with Naomi―do you remember Naomi―"

"You broke up with her over a year ago." Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise. "You said she was clingy and you couldn't stand her singing."

He cringed exaggeratedly. "That's true, I did. And she was always singing."

"Why are you even thinking about her? Surely you don't still care what she thought about your... cunnilingus."

It was absolutely like him―with the foulest mouth she'd ever met―to express this in proper terminology.

"Answer the question."

Fixing him with a hard stare, Hermione returned to her tea. "You're fine. Did Naomi say otherwise?"

"She didn't say anything specifically, but from her reaction I had the sense that―what do you mean 'fine'?"

"I mean fine," she returned with a shrug. "You asked how you are at it. You're fine."

His cheeks grew flushed, genuine alarm widening his eyes. "Fine is not acceptable. Fine is hardly above a passing grade―"

"Merlin, Draco," she huffed, shaking her head. "You're great. Better?"

A low, exasperated sigh fell from his lips. "Hardly. But don't lie to make me feel better."

"Make up your damn mind," she bit out. "Oh, great Draco Malfoy of the clit tonguing prowess―"

"Shut up," he grumbled, and she suspected he was mere moments from pouting like a toddler. "I shouldn't have asked, obviously."

At the flicker of something else on his face―something like embarrassment―something raw and genuine and anxious, she released a sigh. "I'm only teasing you. In my memory, you're as good at cunnilingus as you are at everything else. It's been a while, but I certainly had no complaints the last time."

His brows lifted with scepticism, then he sighed. "Okay. Fine. I'll take your word for it, then."

Against her better judgement, she could feel her body's traitorous response to the conversation. It was Pavlovian―every time they discussed anything sexual, she grew aroused. Their eyes locked.

"If you want to practise―"

"Yes."

Hermione didn't have any desire to turn down a willing partner if Draco wanted to perform oral sex on her. Especially if he felt like he had something to prove. She clenched her thighs together in anticipation.

"I can't believe you're still thinking about Naomi," she said with a snort as she reached for the button on her jeans.

"I'm not thinking of her," he returned with a scoff. "But a bloke doesn't easily get over that sort of a slight." Rolling up his sleeves, he rose from his seat and stood over her. "Where do you prefer we do it?"

Hermione pondered her options then stood as well. "The bed, I suppose."

"Will you―" He forced a swallow, his throat bobbing as he reached out to push her jeans down her hips. His eyes flit down only for a moment to assess her knickers. He was always curious about her knickers. "If I do something you don't like―"

"It's eating pussy, Draco," she murmured with a snicker. "Not your Potions NEWT." When he simply cocked a brow, she smiled. "Of course I will. It benefits me to make you an expert."

He scoffed, slapping her hard on the arse as she began towards her bedroom. "You don't need to act like I'm an amateur. Call it the advanced class."

She paused on the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder. He nearly collided with her back, hands catching hold of her hips. "The expert seminar," she mused, pressing her arse back against his hips. The evidence of his arousal brushed against her, and she smiled to know simply talking about it made him as hot as it did her.

A teasing smirk dragged at his mouth. "I'll take it." Then he nudged her onto the bed with a hand to the small of her back, tugging her shirt over her head in one swift movement. He clarified, "For easier access," before reaching for the lace of her knickers.

Without removing them, however, he surprised her by leaning in to suck on one nipple through the thin fabric of her bra instead. When he swirled his tongue around the peak, she dropped her head back into the pillow.

"This isn't what you wanted to practise," she groaned as he shifted his attention to her other nipple.

"Sure it is," he murmured into her bra. "Tonguing prowess and all that." He tugged the cup free, wrapping his lips around the sensitive nub unhindered, and ground his hips against hers.

A hiss slid from her lips. "If you aren't careful, we're just going to―"

"I know." But he still didn't move, rolling his hips against her again, and she could feel every hard inch of him through her knickers, even with his rough jeans in the way. He thrust against her a third time, the friction delectable on her clit. "You know I can't resist your breasts."

She arched into him, basking in the way his teeth closed around the flesh. "And you know I'll never ask you to."

"Precisely," he purred, the words a low rumble against her flesh. Desire erupted within her, and at length, as though he would have rather continued his assault on her chest, he dragged himself down the length of her body, leaving a trail of heated kisses along her sternum and abdomen. He planted a kiss to her hipbone before yanking her knickers free in one swift movement.

Rolling them into a ball in one fist, he tossed them across the room.

Draco's grey eyes landed on hers from between her thighs, darkened with lust, and a breath caught in her throat at the sight. Threading her fingers through his hair, Hermione stared at him a moment longer, too many words she didn't care to voice hanging on the tip of her tongue.

He planted a kiss to her inner thigh, his tongue sliding out to graze her skin, soft and teasing. Then another, closer towards her apex; he spread her thighs apart, holding her firm to the bed.

"Merlin," he said with a low hum, and the very tip of his tongue flicked out to taste her clit. "You're already so wet."

"You shouldn't be surprised by that," Hermione intoned softly, rolling her hips towards his mouth.

How any woman could remain indifferent to him was beyond her―she grew aroused if he looked at her the wrong way. And they weren't even together.

"No," he said with a snicker, "I'm not. But it doesn't mean I don't appreciate it."

Without warning, he laved the flat of his tongue along the length of her slit, up towards the bundle of nerves, then he latched on with his lips, sucking hard on her clit.

Hermione saw stars, her vision blurring as a cry slipped free. Her fingers tightened in the silky strands of his hair.

"I never know," he murmured, the rumble of his words shooting vibrations through the sensitive flesh. Two fingers grazed the edge of her cunt. "If my pacing is right."

He licked the length of her again, slow and teasing, flicking his tongue out to taste her again and again. He slid two fingers into her, kissing her clit before sucking it between his lips again.

Merlin, she felt like a feast.

She remembered he'd spoken, but her head spun. "It's personal preference, of course." The words fell quiet and breathless. She ground against his mouth, his fingers. He slid his tongue deep into her cunt. A whimper broke from her mouth. "But I think it's good."

"And..." he trailed off, driving his fingers into her. His eyes snapped up to land on hers. "I mean, obviously it varies."

"Obviously," she choked out, already regretting that she said she'd give him feedback. All she wanted him to do was to bury his face between her legs and go to work.

But as though he felt the same, he returned to his efforts, lapping and sucking and thrusting his fingers deeper, quicker, harder.

Within minutes her body tensed, pleasure coursing through her as he moved faster, driving her towards the edge and drawing cries from her lips in every motion.

"Draco," she gasped, tugging at his hair as she arched from the bed, her toes curling in the sheets.

"Come for me," he murmured into her clit, driving his fingers into her still harder. "Fuck, Hermione, I need to hear you―"

With another thrust, his lips latching around her once more, she broke under the onslaught, desire and overwhelming pleasure coursing through her. She came with a cry of his name, her fingers tightening in his hair, vision darkening.

And still he worked her over, drawing her through her orgasm until the waves became a gentle lapping against her consciousness. Heavy breaths fell from her lungs as she stared at him, her cheeks warm.

Draco's fingers tensed around her thigh and he glanced up, his lips wet with her juices. His tongue darted out, tracing the moisture, and a slow, teasing smirk dragged across his face.

He brushed his fingertips along her clit, planted a kiss to her inner thigh where her leg still shook in the aftermath, but he withdrew from the overly sensitised skin. He drawled a quiet, "And?"

Hermione gave an emphatic nod. "Yes. Very good. Outstanding."

He dragged himself up along her body, smiling down at her. "Outstanding, eh? That's as good as it gets."

"Yes," she whispered, propping one knee up alongside his hip. "And you're welcome to practise on me whenever you like."

The smile widened into a grin. "I'll take you up on that."

They stared at each other for a heated moment, Hermione highly aware of the way his erection still nudged against her leg. "Do you want me to suck you off?" she asked, moistening her lips.

He dragged his nose along the line of her throat, pressing a kiss to the skin at the base of her neck. "If you want to."

"You'd rather fuck?" she asked, reading his tone. She ground up against him, fingers drifting to the placard of his jeans. Although she was nude aside from her bra, he still wore his shirt and jeans, and she wanted bare flesh against her own.

He pressed another kiss, lower, just above the curve of her breasts. He considered the question for a moment, then nodded. "I'm feeling partial to your pussy today."

A bright skiff of laughter burst from her lips. "As it turns out, my pussy is partial to you as well after that performance."

His smile softened into something prideful as she tugged his t-shirt over his head and he shifted to oblige her. He slipped free of his jeans and shorts. "I'm honoured."

Hermione grinned at him, taking his cock within her palm. She smoothed her hand the length of him, enjoying, as always, the solid girth of him. He thrust gently into her hand then positioned himself at her entrance, already wet and slick with arousal.

Sometimes, in moments like this, quiet and amusing and reserved only for the two of them, she wondered how easy it would be for them to fall into something more. Like breathing, or slipping into bed at the end of a long day. He was her best friend, and he knew her better than anyone―both mentally and physically.

He could make her scream in ways she knew no one else could.

But it was dangerous to indulge such thoughts.

And as he thrust into her, stretching her wide and drawing a cry from her throat, she forced the thoughts to the back of her mind where they lingered, harmless more often than not. Despite her curiosity, she knew she could never stand it if she were to ruin what they had.

Unorthodox though it might be, she loved every part of it.

Chapter Text

"I got myself a gift." Draco strode into the sitting room, dropping a small paper bag onto the sofa beside Hermione. She cast the bag a cursory glance when he sank into the armchair perpendicular to her.

"And?" She lifted a brow, nudging the tissue paper from the mouth of the bag out of the way. "Am I meant to peek?" When a slow, devilish smirk tugged at his mouth, she sighed―even as her heart jumped in her chest. "What if I'm working on something important?"

"You don't need to look at it now," he drawled, folding one ankle over the opposite knee.

Suspicion crept through her, and she had the sudden desire to flinch away from the bag entirely. But she marked her page and set aside the book in her lap, fixing him all the while with narrowed eyes. Then she tugged the sheaf of tissue from the bag and blinked at its contents.

"I should have known." she mused, drawing several small, lacy items from the bag. "Maybe I should be flattered that this is your gift to yourself."

Lingerie. The prat had purchased her lingerie.

"You can absolutely be flattered if you so choose," he responded, grinning as he watched her sort through the lace.

Merlin, Hermione didn't even want to know how much this cost. Neither did she care to ask how he knew her size. "Am I meant to wear these during sex?"

He shrugged, interlacing his fingers across his middle. "You can wear them whenever you like. Though I wouldn't say no to a show."

For as much as she loved the man, some days she couldn't stand him. "A fashion show."

"Mmhm."

But with the look in his eyes―the flash of heat, the sparkle of lust―she knew in an instant that she would cave. It was a part of their friendship she appreciated the most. That he always trusted her with his thoughts and desires. And if he'd purchased these with the express hope of seeing her wear them...

"My hair is a disaster," she blurted, suddenly intimidated by the thin, revealing garments.

"The other alternative was that I take you shopping," he murmured, "but I thought you would prefer to keep this private."

Thank Merlin for small mercies. "You got that correct." She chewed on her lower lip, peering at one set―forest green lace that would do little to hide any part of her―and her heart began to race.

This was how it always was. She was rarely the one to initiate―but when he did, she always fell head first into it. His enthusiasm―even kept in check and simmering quietly below the surface―was contagious.

"Fine," she said, mouth twitching with a smile. "Just for you." For the chance to feel his eyes on her in this lingerie. His hands.

His grin widened again. "We both know you wouldn't do this for anyone else."

He was right―of course he was right. Outside of a long-term relationship, she'd never had the daring he brought out within her. Mentally setting aside her plans for the rest of the evening―on the suspicion that this would lead in other directions―she rose to her feet.

Draco, eyes sparkling, watched her go.

Slipping into the first set, black satin with a series of intricate straps, and dragging on a set of thigh high black stockings, she eyed herself warily in the mirror. It wasn't as if Draco didn't know every curve of her body as well as she did. Somehow, this felt different. More intimate.

A surge of courage spiked through her, a smile curling her lips, and she stepped into a set of tall black heels she only wore at formal events and only with cushioning charms.

When she emerged back into the sitting room, the game came alight. Draco's gaze raked over her as he leaned forward in his seat, his stare on her flesh hot enough for her to combust.

"Turn around," he murmured, voice soft, reverent.

Hermione stepped closer, turning so he could see the way the straps crossed her back; the curve of her arse in the small knickers.

But he didn't so much as lift a hand to touch―and it hit her. This was just another tease for him. A way to stoke his own desire, to observe her clad in next to nothing, to drive himself mad in the process.

She turned back to face him, breaths shallow; he smiled up, recognition in his eyes.

"Beautiful," he murmured, biting down on his bottom lip. "Gorgeous."

Inwardly, she preened. For as long as they've done this, never quite able to give it a name, she'd never once felt degraded. If anything, he only ever left her empowered. Hermione stayed before him a moment longer, uncertain whether she should reach for him.

But if the heat in his eyes spoke to something deep and primal, his posture remained proper and unaffected.

"I'll try on the next set," she murmured, catching that intoxicating flash of desire in his stare once more.

There were three sets altogether, and the next, one piece in a deep red that clung to every curve, left little to the imagination. Her taut nipples were visible through the fabric, hinting at her own interest in the situation. She shifted, adjusting the cups to emphasise the curve of her cleavage.

The third set, elaborate in a dark green, remained on the bed.

Instinctively, she knew it was the one he most wanted to see.

When she emerged the second time, he released a hoarse, "Fuck."

The outer edges of his facade began to crumble at the parting of his lips, the furrow in his brow as his gaze tracked her across the room. The next breath he released fell a little heavier.

Hermione walked closer, standing over his knees, and peered down at him. Draco's gaze dropped to her chest, his throat shifting with a swallow, and she leaned in lower to give him a direct view.

He physically clenched his hands together.

"Do you like this one?" she asked, close enough so her breath ghosted the shell of his ear. If he wanted to edge himself to the point of madness, she would certainly help him along.

His gaze remained locked on her nipples, straining against the lace. Moisture began to pool between her legs at the raw, feral lust in his stare.

"Yes," he choked, belatedly, the sound shooting straight through her.

Enjoying his poor restraint maybe a little too much, she allowed her chest to brush his, and a quiet breath fell from her lips at the friction. "You can touch, you know."

His gaze snapped up to meet hers, something rebellious on his face as his lips twitched. "I'm not going to touch you."

It sounded like a challenge.

Hermione smiled, turning around so he could see the back of the garment before she retreated entirely and walked from the room. A tremble of need shot through her when she slipped off the lingerie, eyeing the last set on the bed. It was a bra and knickers set, all lace and silk and ribbon with matching garter belt, and a hole in the knickers where the gusset ought to be.

Sweet Merlin. She'd never worn anything like it.

Biting down on her lower lip to stifle a groan, she adjusted her stockings as she slipped into the gorgeous underwear.

She knew, as she always did, that he would never force her into anything. Even his suggestions were always optional―she could have chosen not to play along at all, and he would have let her simply keep the lingerie for herself. But it was what enticed her so much about whatever this was between them.

That they both enjoyed it most when everything was fully consensual.

Drawing a careful, steadying breath, she slipped from the room.

Draco's eyes landed on her in an instant, dark and smoky with the wealth of desire that lay within him―that he didn't bother to hold back. He bit down hard on his bottom lip and drawled, "This is how I will die."

"One way to go," Hermione mused, offering him a small smile.

"A good way," he bit out, nodding, dragging a hand down his face. She wondered how aroused he was. "The best way."

If she was honest, this new game had brought out her courage rather than doused it, bolstered her confidence with the light that came into his eyes. Maybe it was his intention all along. Hermione stepped closer, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor, intensely aware of the way his searing gaze raked down the length of her.

His grey eyes lingered on her breasts, her hips and lower―where the underside of the knickers was absent.

For a moment, he didn't speak―she wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

He only blinked at her, his eyelids low, his fingers curling in the arm of the chair.

The silence dragged against her nerves, and Hermione asked, breathless, "What do you think?"

Eyes tightening, he sucked in a breath. "Stunning. You're stunning." His lips twitched, and he added, "You're stunning no matter what you wear."

At the compliment, warmth flooded her cheeks. She knew he found her attractive―they both knew it was mutual, or they likely wouldn't be quite so drawn to each other, sexually―but it was rare for him to speak such blatant words aloud.

Some traitorous part of her stirred, heart skipping a beat.

And as he only continued to stare at her, something akin to shyness crept in. She stepped closer, into his space, reaching for him. The game was intimate and sensual enough that she desired him, desired to bring this tease to fruition.

But he caught her wrist, his fingers gripping tight as though he couldn't bear her to touch him. Draco swallowed, his tongue dipping out to moisten his lips, and he redirected her hand―to herself. Allowing him to manoeuvre her hand, her palm landed on her own breast, and a breath hitched in her throat.

Draco's mouth parted, as though to say something, but he pressed his lips shut once more. He only moved her hand, more than enough of a hint to suggest what he wanted.

He released her wrist, and the message was clear―it was her call if she wanted to carry on.

If she wanted to touch herself for him.

He'd been oddly quiet, abnormally introspective, when he typically had no reservations about vocalising his desires. Worrying her lower lip, Hermione kept her palm on her own breast, kneading the pad of her thumb against her peaked nipple. Her body was so sensitive, so aware of the situation, that a shudder coursed through her.

Draco only watched, a furrow of consternation on his brow.

So she thumbed her nipple again, a little firmer; tweaked it between her fingers. A soft whimper slipped from her lips, her eyelids fluttering. Draco didn't look away―he didn't even blink.

They were close enough for her knees to brush his, for him to see everything. And just like the rest of it, the feeling of his eyes on her only sought to empower her. She drifted her other palm along her ribcage, the flat of her stomach, grazing her fingertips along the top of her knickers.

A tight breath slipped from Draco's lips. All he said was, "Please."

Hermione caught his stare, seeking the reassurance she knew she would find there. This was something he'd never asked of her before―not in such a fashion as this, every move fully exposed to his intense gaze.

She drifted her fingers along the lace of the knickers, down towards the apex of her thighs, and flicked one finger to graze her clit, already exposed through the gap in the fabric.

A moan slid from her throat, and she circled the bud of nerves with one finger, then two. Pressed a little firmer, her eyes falling shut. When she blinked them open again, his face had shifted, something sad, something like desperation.

At once unnerved and spurred on by his rapt attention, she slid one finger inside of herself, moisture already pooling between her walls. She plucked and tweaked her nipples with the other hand, allowing herself to sink into the pleasure, finding it easy with the trust that lay between them.

Sliding another finger inside, Hermione brushed her clit with her thumb, biting her bottom lip as a cry threatened to break free.

"Let me hear you," he breathed, lifting one hand to her hip to steady her. But his touch remained gentle and didn't stray.

As she thrust her fingers inside once more, she didn't hold back the moan. Every part of her was so sensitive from the game, from his eyes on her, from her own touches. Soft vibrations of arousal and pleasure hummed through her as she fell into a languorous pace.

"That's it," Draco whispered, "touch yourself for me. Fuck, you're perfect."

Her knees felt weak, unsteady in her heels, and she choked out a quiet, "Draco." She managed a thick swallow, awareness of him coursing through her even as it was her own touch that pushed her closer to climax.

It was these quiet moments that frightened her. When she doubted just what it was, exactly, that lay between them.

Her eyes stung, all at once overwhelmed by the thought, and she pushed it back, forced it into a box in the recesses of her mind. Willed her heart to settle.

"I need you," she said, meeting his gaze as she drew in a gasping breath. Still teasing her cunt and clit with idle strokes, she reached for his trousers, his erection visibly straining against his jeans. She grazed gentle fingertips along his hard length. "I want you inside me."

A ghost of a smirk curled his mouth. "Whatever you want."

"It is," she whispered, palming him now, desperate for him, a tremble in her fingers as she withdrew them from her own slick walls.

Draco tugged his jeans from his hips, toeing them to the floor, even as he caught her hand with his other one, bringing her wet fingers to his lips. She nearly combusted on the spot, his tongue swirling around her fingers to taste her juices.

Unable to wait any longer, she tugged his shorts down enough to free his cock, hard and proud as she eyed him through the haze of her desire. Straddling him on the armchair, she sank onto him in one movement, sheathing him to the hilt within her.

A long, low groan fell from her lips as she buried her face in his throat. His hair was messy from his own hands, and she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt as she adjusted to his girth inside of her.

Hermione ground her hips against his, stimulating herself against him, waves of pleasure pulsing through her. She interlaced her fingers around his head, holding firm as she lifted herself up and slid down again, filling herself.

Draco cursed, a groan falling from his lips as he gripped her hip, finally―finally―lifting his other hand to touch her. He palmed her breast, pinched the nipple hard through her bra, brought his mouth to her throat. He sucked hard at her flesh, nipping and biting and laving her neck with kisses.

She would wear the evidence of this encounter; she couldn't bring herself to care.

Because as she ground against him again, bringing their hips together in a scorching sort of agony that shot through her with every thrust, he kissed her.

Before she could even register a flicker of surprise, his tongue slipped into her mouth, one hand sliding into her curls and tugging hard enough to sting. He kissed her again and again, ravenous for her, as though he couldn't get close enough.

He swallowed the whimper that left her throat, gorged himself on the taste of her, and she met him stroke for stroke, the heat of his touches, his kisses, stoking the ember building within her core. Tension spiralled, coiling within as she took him deep, succumbing to the roll of his hips up into her.

Emotion swelled in her, tightening her chest in a way that was almost unbearable, dredging altogether too much to the surface.

Draco brought one hand to her back, released the clasp of her bra, ravaged her nipples with his lips and tongue. She arched into him, basking in the feel of it as he drove still deeper, harder into her.

"Draco," she gasped, all too aware of the way this wasn't like it usually was. That there was something else, something different. But she sank into him, allowing herself to fall into it, giving in to the easy slide of his mouth and tongue on hers when he kissed her again.

Merlin, she'd never felt so close to him.

It was the thought that broke her, pleasure racing and swelling and breaking as she came with a cry of his name.

Draco groaned when the walls of her cunt tightened around him, and he thrust up into her once more, stilling, his arms tightening around her as he spilled deep into her. Hermione registered the moment their breathing began to slow, her head reeling and body singing with the force of her release.

His mouth remained inches from hers, breath dancing amidst the heavy exhales of her own, and without thinking, she drew him into another deep, lingering kiss.

His tongue teased her own, he bit down on her lower lip, and the kiss stretched into something languid and sated, tinged with desperation and a sort of longing that she couldn't define.

Her eyelids fluttered with exhaustion as he softened within her, and she withdrew with care, feeling their mixed juices on her thighs.

But when she blinked her eyes open to meet his, she froze. His eyes were red, a little glassy, that same sadness from before evident as he stared back at her. Without looking away, he swiped a knuckle beneath one eye, and then offered a frail hint of the smirk she knew so well.

Hermione pressed her temple to his, still perched on his lap, and no part of her wanted to break from his hold.

The realisation that she knew she had to step away settled cold in her veins. This was all it was. For all that they were best friends, that she trusted him with her life and her body, this was about sex. There wasn't any room for lingering kisses or heartfelt expressions in the aftermath.

But Draco kissed her again, and she wondered whether she might shatter entirely at the gentleness with which he cupped her face.

As if he couldn't bear for them to separate either.

Brushing his thumb over her cheekbone when he drew back, he murmured, "Thanks for the show."

"Thanks for the lingerie." It was a sort of bravado she didn't feel. A sort that left her cold.

And as she forced herself up, to collect the beautiful lace bra from the wooden floor, to retreat to her room, she felt a sudden and inexplicable urge to cry.

Stomach churning with unease, Hermione sipped her tea at lunch the next day. She could feel Harry and Pansy eyeing her, the odd sense that she'd been left out of an important joke niggling at her.

Then Pansy snorted, shooting Harry a glance. "Big date last night?"

"What?" Hermione's head shot up. "No. Just spent the night at home. Why?"

The woman cocked a derisive brow. "Sure you did. You don't have to tell me."

All at once, comprehension dawned, and Hermione grew cold in the realisation that she had forgotten to glamour the marks Draco left on her neck. She shifted in her seat, taking another big gulp of tea.

Harry let out an uncomfortable laugh. "You know you can tell us if you're seeing someone."

"I'm not," she said, forcing a laugh. "Promise."

Pansy folded her arms, eyes dancing with mirth, and opened her mouth to say something else―when she froze.

"Sorry I'm late." A hand grazed the top of Hermione's back, and her eyes shot wide as Draco slipped into the empty seat next to her. "I got held up in a meeting."

She shot him a sidelong glance, unaware he'd be joining them.

"I didn't realise you were coming," she said with deliberate focus to keep from blushing. She hadn't slept well the night before, their encounter with the lingerie stirring too many things within her.

Draco flashed the group of them a grin. "Pans owled me this morning that you lot were meeting for lunch."

"Great," Hermione murmured, "we're just about to order."

When Draco settled into his seat, his shoulder brushing hers for a moment, she felt a visceral awareness of him spike its way through her. There was absolutely no reason why she should feel awkward about the night before. They'd slept together more times than she could count. Quashing the uneasiness in her gut, she shot him a smile.

"What did I miss?" he asked, dragging a menu towards himself.

"We were just postulating on Hermione's new mystery man," Pansy said with an indolent sip of water. Her hazel eyes landed on Hermione, filled with amusement once more. "Though she claims there isn't one."

Slowly, Draco's gaze slid to her. "Oh?"

Hermione could feel Harry's gaze hard on her, but she couldn't quite meet his eye.

"Yes," Pansy confirmed, waving a hand towards Hermione's neck.

There was no way to keep the heat from creeping up into her face this time when Draco's eyes landed on the love bites along her neck and collarbone. The ones he'd left there little more than twelve hours prior. When his stare lingered, she forced herself to look at him.

His mouth twitched with a smirk. "I'm sure she'll tell us when the time is right."

It wasn't that their arrangement was a secret, per se. All of their friends knew how close they were―or so they thought, platonically. But it would simply pose too many questions that neither of them wanted to deal with were any of their friends to learn about the extent of it.

Harry, at least, knew they'd slept together in the past. But either he didn't think it was still going on, or he'd decided it wasn't his business, because he never pushed the matter.

Pansy, on the other hand, harboured no such reservations. She released a long-suffering sigh and propped an elbow on the table, resting her face in her palm. "As long as the sex is good, I suppose."

Hermione nearly choked on her water.

"That's a good point," Draco drawled, stacking his menu on the pile with the others. "Is the sex good, Hermione?"

Under the table, his foot nudged against hers. She could see the humour in his face, even if he could conceal it from everyone else.

Releasing a breath through her nose, she ground her heel into the top of his foot. He toed her in the shin. "It's alright," she allowed, crinkling her nose; there was little point in denying it with the evidence on her skin, but maybe she could redirect the heat. "I don't imagine it will go anywhere."

One of Draco's hands landed on her knee, sliding slowly along the inside of her thigh. "What a shame," he drawled. "No time in life for mediocre sex, if you ask me."

"Agreed," Pansy said with a titter.

Harry remained noticeably quiet, but finally he cracked a grin. "That is true."

Draco's fingers continued along her leg, and Hermione let out a shallow breath. But when he reached for the closure of her trousers, she swatted his hand away. At a large, preoccupied table of people was one thing, but Harry and Pansy would catch on in an instant and they didn't need to deal with the grilling they'd surely receive.

To her surprise, he clung to her hand, idly interlacing their fingers. Hermione couldn't find it within herself to let go.

"Any news on that upcoming conference?" Harry asked, turning his focus on Draco. "Robards mentioned the other day that Barnett was considering you to represent the department. Where is it being hosted again?"

Draco tilted his head to the side. "Brussels―and hopefully, with any luck. Hermione's been helping me clean up the details of my presentation."

He gave her hand a squeeze.

"It's great already, honestly," she mused, taking a sip of water. She'd almost forgotten about the Brussels conference, if she was honest. That Draco had asked her to go with him. "Barnett would be obtuse to select anyone else."

The smile Draco shot her was soft enough that her stomach rioted.

"Brussels," Pansy announced, eyeing Draco. She released a wistful sigh and shot Harry a look. "It would be nice to go away somewhere."

Harry flashed her a grin in return, planting a hand to her back. "We'll have to plan a trip soon."

"It should be," Draco agreed with a nod. "And I think Hermione is going to come along for the week?" Phrasing the statement as a question, he turned to her, lifting an expectant brow.

"Yes," she returned, avoiding the look of surprise on Harry's face. "I just had to confirm with Desory that I can get the week off―but I think he's going to secure me a pass to attend the conference as well. There is enough crossover with our work that he thinks it would make sense."

Heat danced in Draco's eyes though his face remained blank. "Oh, that works out perfectly, then."

"Yes," Hermione repeated, forcing a nod and a thick swallow. Her voice softened and she gave Draco's hand another squeeze under the table. "Just perfect."

At that moment their server returned, sparing her from dwelling on the subject any longer.

Chapter Text

Draco drifted up behind her, almost silently on the carpet, and peered over her shoulder into the closet. "What are you doing?"

"Packing." Releasing a sigh, Hermione reached for a dress, running the smooth fabric between her fingers. "I can't decide what to bring."

The conference in Brussels had crept up on her, and she'd almost put it from her mind until realising they were set to leave in only a few days. If she was honest, the air between her and Draco had felt a little stilted in recent weeks.

Ever since the night he brought her lingerie.

She couldn't force the night from her mind; the way he'd looked at her. The way he'd touched her, soft and reverent, as though he may never have the chance again. The way he'd kissed her without regard for any of the carefully constructed walls between them.

And she knew better than to bring it up. Especially now, weeks later. Because the last thing she needed was to let on that the night impacted her in some way more than it was meant to. More than any of their nights together had―and they'd slept together more times than she could count.

They hadn't even seen each other all that much since. He had been busy finalising his presentation for the conference, and their hours at the flat together had been fewer than usual.

Draco stepped closer, propping his chin on her shoulder, and wrapped one arm around her middle. He hummed, reaching for one dress. "This one. For the party."

The majority of their time in Brussels would be attending conference sessions. Draco was set to speak on the second afternoon, but the rest of the time they would be able to sit in on the panels that caught their attention, and have plenty of free time to explore the city. But the last night of the function would be a party among the attendees.

"Okay." She slid the dress from its hanger and with a wave of her wand, sent it to tuck itself into her suitcase. Her gaze roved the closet, even as he pressed a kiss to her jaw.

"You're tense." Another kiss. "What is it?"

She'd scarcely realised it, but at his words, she forced the strain loose from her shoulders and neck. Allowed her head to fall to the side as he laved her throat with the flat of his tongue.

After a moment, he stilled. "Hermione?"

"Nothing," she said with a sigh, and allowed herself to sink back a little into his hold. Even when the air between them felt uncomfortable, as it had in a certain measure for two weeks, he still knew her better than anyone else. "I suppose I'm just anxious about this trip."

"How come?"

"I don't know."

She wanted to melt into him, to let herself seek the warmth and comfort she knew he could offer. But she couldn't get that damned night from her mind. And she couldn't help the way that every time she looked at him she wanted to kiss him.

For so long, they'd been able to keep the distance between them, to engage in whatever all of this was, and to keep everything else separate.

Hermione feared him learning the truth. That every so often, she wondered about something more.

And every so often had surprised her with its frequency all of a sudden.

His voice dropped. "Please talk to me."

She wished she could. But not about this. "It's nothing. Just trying to make sure I have all my work done in advance."

He only stared at her, disbelief crossing his face.

"Desory was grilling me about whether I wanted my own hotel room," she added, tacking on something a little more truthful. "And I told him it would be fine because we're already flatmates. And that your room has two beds, so it's fine."

A long pause followed, and she could sense his disappointment on the air. "Right. Of course."

Just for a moment, she thought he might have been hoping for something else. She could feel him stiffen, begin to pull away, and she clamped a hand around his arm where it banded her middle. "Stay, if you want to. I can finish packing tomorrow."

He turned his head on her shoulder to face her, his eyes searching when they met hers. "I know you better than this, you know. And I don't believe a word of what you're saying. But if you don't feel like talking, I won't force you."

Her heart leapt in her chest at the words. It could be so easy to admit she liked him―but it was so damn hard. And she knew she couldn't risk his friendship. Couldn't risk everything they had.

So she breathed, "I don't feel like talking."

"Okay." He pressed a kiss to her cheek, and this response seemed to satisfy him more than her half truths.

Hermione's eyelids fluttered shut when his lips remained against her skin, soft and tender, and his thumb roved her sternum just below the curve of her breasts. Driven by instinct more than reason, she turned her face towards his.

Draco's eyes held hers for a long moment as he kept her against his chest, a hint of sadness peaking his brows. He lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing his thumb along the bone. Infinite in its softness, he pressed a kiss to her mouth.

They rarely kissed. And even when they did, it was always in the heat of the moment.

This felt like something on its own plane of existence.

Her heart slammed in her chest as he drew back, resting his temple against hers. Then kissed her again, his tongue grazing hers only for an instant before he ended the kiss.

For long moments, she couldn't find words. "What was that for?"

Releasing a slow exhale, he gave a bit of a smirk, shrugged, and dropped his chin back to her shoulder. "You looked like you needed to be kissed."

The response clanged through her, vibrating along her skin and echoing in her brain. A shiver rushed through her at the strength of her reaction, and she clung to his hand even when he unwound himself from her. This wasn't like the prelude to any sex they'd ever had.

Never mind that kissing had always merited some form of acknowledgement between them.

"I confess," Draco murmured, apologetic, "I'm rather tired tonight." But even as he spoke the words, he linked their fingers.

Something so significant hung in the air between her that Hermione didn't know what to make of it. "You can still stay," she offered, "if you want to."

It wouldn't be the first time they fell asleep in the same bed, though it usually involved a precursor.

He already wore only his sleep trousers and a black t-shirt, and without any further encouragement, he tugged her towards her own bed. Yanking the shirt over his head, he tossed her shorts and camisole at her, and though Hermione hadn't been planning to sleep just yet, when he tucked himself beneath her covers, the whole situation looked so inviting she couldn't resist.

She wanted to kiss him again. To draw him against her, entwine their legs, drink her fill of the intoxicating taste of him.

And as they stared at each other in the darkened room, she nearly did.

But then his eyes slid shut, and her heart raced in her chest long after he drifted to sleep.

To Hermione's relief, whatever unease remained between them trickled away in the face of several days spent entirely in each other's company. Draco's presentation on the second afternoon was as amazing as she'd known it would be―even with the way he'd fretted about it up until twenty minutes prior.

And when he took his seat beside her at the next session with a quick squeeze to her shoulder blade, she was grateful to see the tension he'd carried for weeks had all but evaporated.

"You did great," she offered in a low voice. "As I knew you would."

He fired her a look. "I messed up the bit about―"

"You did great."

Although he rolled his eyes, he didn't contradict her again. He simply drew his notepad from his satchel and leaned back in his seat, his other hand drifting along her thigh beneath the table as he jotted notes in his long, elegant script.

In between speakers, Draco leaned over and scrawled on her page.

Dinner tonight?

He didn't even need to ask, when they had committed to spending the trip together outside of the handful of sessions they'd decided to attend separately. But a strange sort of uncertainty hung in his brow when she slid her eyes to meet his. Then she reached across to write on his page, ignoring his attempts to bat her quill away.

I'm not sick of you just yet, so sure.

He scoffed low in his throat.

If you were going to get sick of me, you'd have done so years ago.

Hermione bit down hard on her bottom lip to quell a sudden urge to laugh. His hand drifted a little higher on her thigh, curving between her legs, and she shot him a warning look. His mouth only twitched. Clamping her legs together to impede his progress, she reached for his page again.

I have my reasons for keeping you around.

Cocking a single brow, Draco fixed her with a heated stare. Then, with pointed deliberation, he raked his gaze down the length of her visible above the top of the table. Drifting his fingers along the inside of her thigh despite the restricted motion, he turned her page to face him and wrote, Same.

She coughed to conceal a laugh.

Then beneath the table, she swatted his hand away. They were both there representing different departments of the British Ministry of Magic, and the last thing either of them needed was to be discovered in a professional environment.

As much as his teasing touches had stoked her desire in great measure.

She scribbled on his page again.

Then I suppose we have plans after dinner.

Draco bit down on his lower lip, a smile playing about the corners of his lips, but he only pulled her hand into his and entwined their fingers. If she wasn't mistaken, he had been looser with his casual touches than usual, but she enjoyed it enough that she wasn't willing to question a good thing.

So she only gave his hand a squeeze and watched in amusement as he carefully removed her messy scribbles from his page.

All through dinner, her nerves were alight with the prospect of after dinner.

There was something altogether exciting about being in a different city―a strange, unfamiliar place with new places to explore and new thrills to discover. They'd already spent hours wandering the area of Brussels around their hotel, and after twenty minutes of walking, Draco threw pretence to the wayside and pulled her into the darkness between two buildings.

"Do you want to go back?" he asked, hitching her thigh up around his hip. His grip on the bare underside of her leg was rough, possessive. A groan slid from his lips as he ground his hips against hers.

"Yes." A breathy whimper escaped her when his hardness met her core, and she dropped her head back against the stone wall behind her. Hiking her skirt higher, he grazed his fingertips along the damp centre of her knickers, eyes sliding to the street beyond the narrow alley.

His face was mostly lost to the shadows, breath warm against her cheek as he nudged her knickers aside, propping his knee between her legs to hold them apart.

They were secluded enough that she didn't immediately think to stop him.

It wouldn't be the first time one of them had gotten the other off in public.

Biting down on her lower lip, Hermione rolled her hips towards his hand, inviting his touch deeper as he pumped two fingers into her. She barely managed to hold back a moan when he curled his fingers inside her, the pad of his thumb drawing slow circles around her clit.

"Draco," she gasped.

In the dimly lit corridor, she caught the curl of his smirk. "Yes?"

"This alley―" A cry slipped out and he clamped his free hand over her mouth with a snicker "―is horribly unsanitary." Her last words came out muffled by his palm and he removed his hand.

But he only pressed down harder on her clit. "Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"Prat," she choked.

Thrusting his fingers into her again, quicker and a little more forcefully, he drawled, "Before or after?"

Hermione had to consider the question only for a second before she breathed, "After."

He breathed a low, "Good girl," and as he brought her to the edge and spilling over, he stifled her cry with a kiss, drawing her immediately into Apparition.

They landed in the hotel room, her head spinning with the force of travel mid-orgasm. A quiet huff of laughter fell from her lips as the waves of pleasure ebbed, Draco's fingers still playing about the sensitive nerves.

He pressed his temple to hers, tugging her cloak from her shoulders.

The room was dimly lit, several shafts of moonlight piercing the sheer curtains. The cool light glanced off his features, illuminating the pale shade of his eyes, and Hermione clung to his hand, stilling his efforts.

When his eyes landed on hers, a breath caught in her throat.

"Thank you for inviting me along," she murmured softly, bringing his hand to her lips. She pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. "This is nice. I think we needed some time away together."

A halfway smile drew across his lips. "It is nice." Burying a hand into her curls, he tilted her head up to face him. "But to be honest, I have fun with you no matter what we're doing." He hesitated, then added with a smirk, "And I don't just mean sex."

She wasn't certain, but it might have been the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

For so many years, Harry and Ron had filled the space of best friend in her life, but they always had each other foremost and she had come to accept that. But when she and Draco started to develop their friendship, everything simply clicked.

Like he was meant to play that role all along, but fate and circumstance simply hadn't been prepared for it until years later.

Beaming at him, she murmured, "So do I." Some of the warmth in her chest dissipated as she recalled the way they'd been a little cooler with each other in the weeks leading up to the trip. "And I don't ever want that to change."

Significance and understanding hung in his gaze, and she suspected he was thinking of the same thing. "Deal," he said quietly, tightening their conjoined hands. "You're my best friend, no matter what else."

A sudden urge to cry washed over her, and she wasn't sure it was entirely formed of relief. "Of course," she whispered, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. "And you're mine."

Long moments passed wherein he didn't release her hand, his gaze fixed on hers in the dimly lit hotel room. "Even when you meet someone," he said softly, "and decide you don't want to mess around with me anymore―I'm still going to be here if you need me. Promise."

Her brain whirred with too many aspects of the statement. When you meet someone.

She feared she might actually start crying at the certainty in his words―or admit something embarrassing that he surely wouldn't care for. So she forced a watery smile and replied, "Who's to say you aren't going to meet some beautiful young heiress and run off with her. And you'll never spare a thought for me again."

Draco rolled his eyes, even as he withdrew his hand and removed his own coat. Then he tugged her down onto the bed, drawing her tight against his chest. "Of the two of us," he said into her hair, "you're far more likely to be swept off your feet by someone. Some foreign dignitary or something―maybe you'll even meet someone here."

She didn't know how to say she had no intentions of meeting someone, when such a statement would surely scare him off.

"Why don't you want a girlfriend?" The words spilled from her lips of their own accord, and though she wished she could take them back, she was too curious about the answer. He had been unnecessarily vague about the thought for longer than she could remember, and even when she'd known him to date women, he never fully elaborated on why the relationships ended.

It felt easier to ask when she could only see the smooth fabric of his shirt.

She couldn't see his face, but she felt the motion of his shrug. "Fond of my own space, I guess. Working on my own shit. I'll meet someone when the time is right."

Her chest felt unbearably tight at the thought. "Of course," she whispered, shifting her face to see him better. "And she'll be a lucky woman."

A slow, indulgent smile spread across his face, and he reached to tuck a curl behind her ear. "You flatter me so."

"I mean it," she whispered.

When the warmth drifted from his expression, she recalled the heat that had flowed between them only moments earlier. The way they'd returned to the hotel room with the explicit intent to get each other naked.

So she shifted to straddle his hips, reaching for his belt. "Do you still want to have sex?"

Draco smiled up at her, a soft, rueful smile she didn't always know how to dissect. "If you want to."

"That isn't an answer."

His eyes drifted slightly towards her mouth, and he drawled, "What if I said I just want to kiss you until we fall asleep?"

Despite the casual bravado in his tone, she knew him better. So much better. And she could see the hint of uncertainty―the insecurity beneath his stare. Hermione knew his emotions better in the moment than her own, as her heart rioted and her stomach twisted into knots.

Settling back at his side, close enough to breathe the same air, she said, "Kissing isn't a thing we usually do."

"I know."

She wasn't sure if either of them needed to voice the thought that they'd been kissing quite a bit more than usual.

"We don't have to," he mused, releasing the line of buttons along his shirt with deft fingers. "We can fuck if you're up for it, or we can just sleep and circle back to it tomorrow night. I'll go down on you if you like."

As he spoke again, the surety returned to his voice, the vulnerability of moments before concealed beneath the comfort of familiarity. They were used to propositioning each other for sex―usually they didn't even need to voice the words. But asking for something else―something deeper and more intimate―left him off balance.

In the same way hearing him ask did to her.

Shifting closer, she wedged her knee between his and drifted her palm to his cheek that faced the ceiling.

Brushing her mouth to his, she drew in a deep breath. "I love kissing you."

She should have said something else―something teasing and irreverent about his mouth―but the word slipped out and to her great relief, he didn't comment on it.

He only murmured against her lips, "So do I."

And when his mouth opened to hers, his tongue sliding against hers and delving between her lips, her heart clamoured a desperate cadence in a way it never did. The quiet calm that settled between them felt like nothing else.

Hermione could feel his erection nudge against her hip but he didn't make a move for her shirt, and she was utterly content to lose herself in his mouth.

A soft whimper slid from her lips when he dragged a trail of kisses along her jaw, nipping her earlobe. He hesitated there for a moment, sucking the flesh between his lips, and said, "Is this weird?"

It was so many things, but weird wasn't one that came to mind.

Kissing him felt painfully right, but the word stalled on her tongue when she tried to speak. "No," she said at last, moaning when he bit down on the shell of her ear and a jolt of desire shot through her. "But it does feel good."

"Yeah," Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her jaw just below her ear. "It does."

Merlin, she would have emptied the contents of her vault at Gringotts to know exactly what he was thinking at the moment. And if it lined up, even a little, with the thoughts insistent in her own mind.

That she could have kissed him forever and never tired of it.

When his mouth found hers again, easy and indolent and like he hadn't a care in the world―when she pressed herself flush against him in an effort to eliminate any possible remaining space―she allowed herself to sink into whatever it was.

She would pay for it tomorrow. In the weeks and months that followed. The years.

Maybe she would never forgive herself for this.

Because under the feel of his hands, the give and take of his tongue and his lips and mouth and the heat that rushed between them―

Hermione could no longer deny the reality of it.

She was in love with Draco Malfoy.

Chapter Text

The week slid by in a tumult of simultaneous thrill and despair.

For as much as she loved spending time with Draco, the longer she put off dealing with the revelation she'd experienced on their second night in Brussels, Hermione found herself torn by the reality of the situation. The part of her that was all pragmatism and logic knew she'd messed up.

He was her friend. No matter that they'd been sleeping together for as long as they had, there wasn't anything officially between them.

And if she brought feelings into the mix, she could run the risk of destroying their friendship.

Draco had never expressed desire or intent for anything deeper―and neither had she. They'd made everything work up to this point, and Hermione would never forgive herself if she pushed away the most important person in her life.

She knew he could tell something was wrong―he could always tell―but he had remained curiously silent on the issue.

Maybe everything would all come crashing down around her when they returned to London.

Maybe he could tell exactly what she was thinking. Maybe she was obvious.

For all she knew, he simply didn't care to make waves while they were abroad and he would drop her after they returned home. She would have to find a new place to live―find ways to avoid him at work.

Attempt the slow, devastating process of knitting her heart back together.

Their friendship wasn't like any she'd ever experienced, and she didn't know which would be worse―the thought that he didn't want her back in the same way, or the idea that she might lose him as a friend forever.

For days, the thoughts warred in her brain, stirring all of her thoughts into a jumbled mass, and it was all she could manage to keep a smile on her face. Although they'd shared a bed, she hadn't slept with him the last few nights in Brussels, and Draco must have read her hesitation because he hadn't approached her for anything sexual.

But still, almost inevitably, she woke up tangled in his embrace each morning.

It didn't make matters any easier.

When they returned to London, she would have an easier time inserting distance between them. Of attempting to install some of the boundaries she ought to have put in place months ago. Years ago.

"If you think any harder," Draco drawled, walking up behind her, "your brain is going to implode." He prodded at the side of her head, through her hairdo held in place by magic. "And I do not want to clean that up."

She offered him a rueful smile despite herself. "We both know you would hire someone to clean it up."

A slow smile stretched across his face in return. "Probably. Anyway―are you doing alright? Set for the party?"

"Yeah," she whispered, a breath catching in her throat. "Alright, thanks. And just about. Give me a few more minutes."

Turning from herself in the mirror―the redness to her eyes she hadn't quite managed to conceal―she took him in.

Draco Malfoy always looked good. Even when they were lounging around the flat in casual clothes, he somehow managed to pull off an effortless classiness that she sometimes envied. But now, his hair styled into utter perfection, a perfectly tailored suit clinging to every one of his lean lines, she couldn't ignore the stutter in her heart.

"You," he purred, "look gorgeous. This dress was absolutely the right call."

A sharp pang of longing chased through her and settled as a low pulse in her chest. "Thank you," she murmured, ducking her chin. "And you look utterly fabulous, of course."

A hint of a smirk curled the corner of his mouth, and she reached up to straighten the knot of his tie. She allowed her fingers to linger on the silk only for a moment before drawing back.

"Thanks," he drawled. "Shall we go?"

"Yes."

Reaching for his hand, Hermione hesitated when he didn't move. His light gaze settled on her, the warmth dropping from his expression. "I just want you to know," he said, "that I hope you can share with me whatever has been bothering you this week. You know you can talk to me―and you know I always know."

A beat in time hung, suspended, as she stared at him.

For an agonising moment, the whole situation rushed to the tip of her tongue. Maybe she could just tell him. Maybe he wouldn't hate her forever.

But he had always been honest and open about the fact that he didn't want a girlfriend. Even when he dated, it was casual more often than not. Confessing anything ridiculous would only put him in an awkward spot.

There was no sense in denying she'd been off, because he would see through that, too. So she offered her best smile and said, "Not tonight."

A flicker of sadness crossed his brow, but he nodded all the same. "Okay." Then he took her hand into his, her fingers enveloped by his larger ones when they entwined with her own. He tugged her close and Apparated the pair of them to the party.

After several glasses of champagne, Hermione decided the best course of action was probably not to drown her misery in alcohol.

Although the gathering was a celebration of sorts to close out the end of the conference, they were still representing the British Ministry―and furthermore, several notable figures in her field were in attendance.

Draco stayed close by her side all evening, and it was almost too easy to fall back into familiar patterns. The steady stream of conversation edging towards banter. The casual touches. The way they sometimes found themselves wrapped in their own world even despite other people around.

His hand lingered along her lower back, sliding almost absently towards the curve of her arse, and every instinct wanted her to urge him on. To allow herself to indulge the comfort of his touches―the heat that always escalated between them without fail.

It would be so easy to give in to old habits. She knew if she hinted at anything, they would sneak off to find a private room somewhere.

Every part of her longed for him.

But it was about more than sex, and she feared the more she encouraged that part of herself the worse it would get. That if she continued to sleep with him, to bask in the feel of his hands, his kisses, his cock inside of her―

A heavy breath slid from her lips.

Hermione managed a thick swallow.

"Another drink?" Draco asked, startling her from her thoughts. His hand tensed briefly on her back, fingers barely grazing her arse as though he couldn't decide whether he wanted to touch. Maybe he was having the same thoughts about hiding out somewhere.

They'd done it so many times.

"No, thank you," she said quietly. "Probably best I keep my head on straight."

He sighed, raking a hand through his hair. Even tousled, it looked intentional. "You're probably right. These dos tend to drag on and make me want to drink."

"I know."

Shooting her a smirk, his hand drifted a little lower. "We could ditch out early if you like."

An inhale caught in her throat, mouth going dry. Instinctively, her body jumped into a simultaneous awareness and readiness for him.

The issue was that, while her body wanted to have sex with him, her brain knew she was only asking for more trouble. But surely one more time couldn't make matters worse.

She shifted back a little, pushing herself closer into his palm. Draco gave her arse a brief, inconspicuous squeeze, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.

Merlin, she wanted him.

This would all be so much easier if she weren't so bloody attracted to the man.

If he didn't possess every quality she wanted in a partner.

"Maybe," she breathed, cursing herself all the while, "no one would notice if we left a little early."

Heat flared in his gaze―the sort in which she'd allowed herself to be engulfed countless times.

Surely she could allow herself this just once more, and when they returned home, she could begin to sort through her emotions for him. Attempt to assemble some walls between them, brick by painstaking brick.

"Draco Malfoy," a deep voice said in a thick French accent. A man approached, a wide grin on his face as he brandished a hand.

Draco offered a thin smile, removing his hand from the vicinity of Hermione's arse and offering it instead to the man before them. "Beauregard," he said as they shook. "It's good to see you."

The French man clapped him on the shoulder. "And you. Your presentation this week was spectacular."

Dipping his chin into a nod, Draco murmured, "Thanks, mate. Much appreciated." He cast her a glance, shifting on the spot. "Hermione, this is Beauregard―a contact of mine in the French Ministry. Beau, my good friend and colleague, Hermione Granger."

Something about the introduction felt stilted, and she felt an unwelcome jolt in her heart at the casual ease with which he offered the word friend. But moments later the tension sheathing Draco's shoulders vanished entirely.

"Miss Granger," Beauregard said with another grin that made his blue eyes sparkle. "That is a name I know well."

Despite herself, Hermione smiled at his easy manner and offered a hand. He took it into his, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. She couldn't help the way her gaze slid to Draco when Beauregard released her hand, but his focus was fixed away from her.

Draco jammed his hands into his pockets. "Have you enjoyed the conference?"

With a low noise of derision, Beauregard waved a hand. "You know how these things go. A little entertainment for a lot of long, boring speeches."

At that, Draco offered a genuine smile. "Indeed I do."

"Not yours," Beauregard corrected.

Hermione observed the exchange, keeping her expression carefully lukewarm as she tried to discern whether there was anything untoward between the two men. She could typically read Draco's moods―not as well as he could with hers, but well enough―but this was something she couldn't quite figure out.

Clearly they knew each other, but she couldn't get a sense of the relationship.

"Course not," Draco drawled with a smirk. "Are you headed back to Paris tomorrow?"

"Unfortunately so," the man replied. His gaze trailed sidelong to land on Hermione, only for a moment. "Though Brussels has been lovely. Perhaps you would both join me for a drink?"

She couldn't miss the way Draco's eyes dipped, almost surreptitiously, to his watch. But he remained as smooth as ever when he said, "Hermione? Do you want to stay for another?"

All at once, the situation clicked, and it was painfully obvious that whatever he truly felt on the matter, he kept masked behind a careful shield that he usually let down in front of her. He didn't want to do or say anything to influence her opinion on the man―and the thought alone left her uneasy.

But Beauregard seemed friendly enough, and if Draco didn't truly care for the man's company, he would have already made their excuses. She knew him well enough for that.

So she offered a small smile. "Sure. One quick drink can't hurt."

"Perfect!" Beauregard exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

Draco's fingers brushed the base of her spine, whisper soft, and Hermione nearly jumped at the sudden contact. "I have to use the loo. Do you want to find us a table?"

When she looked at him―found his gaze intent on her―she still couldn't determine his feelings on the matter.

"Sure," she offered, watching as the pair of them drifted away in quiet conversation.

Blowing out a breath, Hermione ventured instead towards a bank of tables along one wall, settling herself at a small circular table with three chairs. Watching the crowd, she observed as some grew sloppier and others dispersed from the hall. As five minutes drifted into ten, she glanced towards the bar.

Draco and Beauregard stood near the bar in conversation again, an unreadable furrow on Draco's brow, but she was too far away to listen in even if she wanted to.

Which she didn't.

If any part of it was important, Draco would tell her later.

As she watched the pair of them, Beauregard said something with a smirk, and his gaze lifted to land on her from across the room. Instantly, Hermione turned away. Warmth crept into her cheeks.

But a minute later, Draco planted a drink onto the table in front of her before taking a seat at her side, and Beauregard settled into the third.

"Santé," he announced, raising his glass, and with a thin smile, Hermione clinked it with her own.

Draco followed suit and took a deep swig of his whisky.

Whatever tension spiked before had only strengthened in the time since they split up, and Hermione found herself contributing very little as Draco and Beauregard carried a somewhat bland conversation about upcoming events.

A part of her longed for the night to end so they could leave. The week had been long and tiresome, and fatigue settled in as she sipped her cocktail. But to her quiet dismay, Draco had scarcely looked at her since sitting down, and he had kept his chair a careful distance away.

All of the heat that existed between them earlier had evaporated.

Maybe it was for the best.

It had to be for the best.

"Hermione's with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in London," Draco was saying, and she wrenched herself back into the conversation. She could detect a subtle note of pride in his voice when he added, "Their best by far."

Scoffing, she shot him a look. "He's exaggerating."

"I doubt it," Beauregard said, his French accent smooth.

Draco pursed his lips, straightening in his seat. "I certainly am not."

When Beauregard's gaze lingered on her a moment longer, a frisson of nerves darted along her spine. Objectively, the man seemed both polite and charismatic, and he didn't set off any alarm bells in her mind. But maybe there was something in the way Draco hadn't quite been himself since the three of them sat down.

It was strange to see him anything less than wholly sure of himself.

Raking a hand through his hair, Draco blew out a breath. "It's been a tiring week. I think I'll turn in soon."

Hermione shot him a glance, her stomach churning with unease. He never shied away from including her, even around others.

"A shame," Beauregard said with a long swig of his drink. "I cannot convince you to stay for one more?"

With a shadow of a smirk that Hermione knew better than to believe, he drawled, "I'm afraid not. But the next time I'm in Paris I'll send you an owl. You know I can't resist that boulangerie near the canal. Perhaps Hermione would like to stay for another?"

Hermione turned to him, startled, and frowned when he merely swigged the last of his whisky.

So she offered an apologetic smile instead to Beauregard. "I'm rather tired, myself. But it was wonderful meeting you."

"Likewise," Beauregard said with a good-natured grin. "Have a smooth return home."

"And you." Draco nodded, rising from his seat and, feeling out of sorts, Hermione followed him. But he simply strode from the hall, hands in his trouser pockets, his face unreadable.

Hermione paced at his side, and though neither of them spoke she could read the tension radiating from him in waves. And despite his silence, she could practically hear his mind whirring.

"What was that?" she asked, her careful attempt at neutrality sliding when he shrugged.

"Nothing."

"It clearly wasn't nothing."

They emerged onto the street, the night air chilly through her thin cloak, but she ignored it as she picked up her pace to keep up with Draco's longer strides.

"Beau's an old friend," he said at last, though it did nothing to sate her curiosity―or her frustration.

"And?" she asked, voice rising. "You were just going to leave me there with him? I don't know anything about the man."

"He's fine." The edge to Draco's tone only further spiked her anger. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't think you'd be safe. And in case you didn't notice, which you probably didn't because you never do, he was interested in you."

Hermione gaped at him, the words catching her off guard enough to stay some of her ire. "Even if that were the case, once again, I don't know him at all."

"Hence," Draco said as though he were placating a child, "getting to know him. You two would get on."

The situation was strange enough that she stopped dead on the street, and after taking several steps forward without her, Draco released a loud sigh and turned back to face her.

"What the fuck?" she asked, some part of her snapping. A rising sense of panic mingled with a bitter unease deep within her. And pain. Enough pain that she thought it might split her in two. "Who said I wanted to get to know anyone? And if I did, don't you think I could make that decision on my own?"

Draco didn't respond for too many erratic beats of her heart, and then he pressed his eyes shut. "I'm tired, Hermione."

Adrenaline raged behind her ears, and she couldn't tell whether her reaction was composed of fight or flight. Whether she wanted to push this―or whether she wanted to walk away and nurse the fracture expanding the length of her heart.

"No," she snapped, voice weaker than intended. "You don't get to turn on me and then walk away." Horror seeped into her veins when she realised her vision was blurry, eyes thick with unshed tears. Ignoring the hurt, she closed the distance between them and hissed, "None of this is your call to make."

"For fuck's sake," he huffed, wrenching a hand through his hair, "I was trying to do you a bloody favour."

"We have a very different definition of the word!"

For a long moment, Draco only stared at her, and it took everything in her to hold his gaze. She wasn't certain she even had the strength to keep herself standing.

"You and I both know," he said, quiet and defeated, "you aren't going to want to fuck me forever."

A tear broke free, sliding down her cheek, but try as she might, she couldn't come up with a single damn word.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "but I can't do this right now."

Her own pain echoed back from his eyes, and she could read the exhaustion plainly on his face when he turned and walked away from her. And when he ducked between two buildings, she knew he was gone.

By the time Hermione finally dragged herself the short distance down the road―when she could no longer hold back the tears―she Apparated back to the hotel, fumbling blindly for her key. Every part of her hoped Draco was already asleep. That she wouldn't have to deal with the way she felt as though she might never be okay again.

She had known she was playing with fire. But maybe she never understood exactly how much.

Not until she realised how much she cared.

And now, in the face of him walking away from her―rejecting her―she wondered if her heart hadn't already crumbled to dust. If she were simply waiting for a good breeze to come through and sweep away any part of her that remained.

A lamp on the bedside table cast a dim glow upon the room, but Hermione dragged herself past it to the loo to prepare for bed.

In the wake of Draco leaving her behind, the fight in her spirit had been doused. And now she didn't know what to make of the situation. A little more than an hour earlier, they'd been keen to sneak out of the party early together.

It was a sobering thought.

Through the balcony window, she saw Draco outside at the small table, a glass of amber liquid hanging from his fingers. The moonlight glanced off his pale hair in a way that caused her heart to clench.

To bleed.

She wasn't sure anymore.

She wanted to step out, to speak to him, but she didn't know what to say. No part of her could handle his rejection again.

They would return to London the next morning. Although she couldn't explain this sudden turn between them, it didn't feel like any argument before ever had. They so rarely fought, and most of their disagreements were minor and easily repaired.

This was something else entirely.

She and Draco had shared one of the room's two beds since arriving in Brussels, but now she carried her suitcase to the other one, still made, the blankets smooth. Sorting through her clothes, she took care in folding each item, and the steady, quiet work managed to soothe some of the voices in the back of her mind.

The painful, irregular beat of her heart.

The way she felt as though she might fall into pieces in the wake of one wrong move.

The balcony door opened and Draco stepped inside, but she kept her gaze tightly on her bag. She could feel his stare on her but she feared what might happen if she looked at him. What she might say.

Glass clinked on glass, and in her periphery she saw him pour another measure of whisky. He only drank to excess on rare occasions―and even tonight, she could tell he wasn't drunk. At least, he hadn't been at the party. She couldn't say how much he'd consumed since returning to the hotel without her.

She reached for a jumper, taking care to fold it despite the way her fingers shook.

"Hermione," Draco said, the word little more than an exhale.

One sleeve and the other. She tucked it into the bottom of her bag and reached for the next garment. It would be so much easier to do this with magic―but it would be so much faster, too. And she needed the distraction.

"Look," he said quietly, then released a sigh. "Please look at me."

She swiped at a tear in a swift, inconspicuous motion, refusing to let him see her cry. Reaching for another shirt, she grew frustrated when she fumbled with the fabric.

Draco walked closer, leaning against the wall next to the bed, and watched her struggle for what felt like minutes but was surely less than one. Then he drew his wand and, with a leisurely wave, all of her belongings folded and tucked themselves securely in the bag.

A sudden surge of something swelled within her―anger and devastation and heartache the likes of which she'd never felt before.

"I was doing that myself," she gritted through her teeth, swiping in frustration at a tear that began to slide down her cheek.

She could sense him stiffen at her side, and though she wanted to accept whatever peace he had to offer, she felt as though something irreparable had cracked between them and she wasn't ready to confront it just yet.

"Okay," he said at last. "Our Portkey leaves at nine."

Maybe this would be so much easier if the damage between them were permanent. If she had no choice but to move on. For so long, she'd depended on him―but maybe it was too much.

Maybe it was all too damn much.

"I'll find my own way home," she grumbled, wrenching at the zipper on her bag.

Draco stilled, then slammed the last of his whisky and dropped the cup heavily onto the table. The sudden noise of it jarred through her.

"Fine," he snapped. "Do whatever the fuck you want."

"What is your problem?" she retorted, unaware the words were on her tongue before they broke free. "You were fine not two hours ago and now you're treating me like I've done something wrong when you're the one―"

"Yeah?" he interrupted loudly. "And what have I done so wrong?"

She scowled at him, rising from the bed in a sudden burst of vitriol. "You're the one trying to throw me away like I don't matter―like years of friendship mean nothing to you and you just―"

"If that's what you fucking think―"

"Sure what it fucking looks like―"

Draco ground his jaw, raw anger burning in his stare as he yanked at the knot of his tie. "You don't have a bloody clue what I―" He cut himself off, releasing a heavy exhale, narrowing his eyes at her. "Fine. I don't care what you want to do. Find your own Portkey then."

"I'd rather that than go back with you!" she shouted.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. Awareness settled, nauseating within her, and she knew all of this was nonsense. That nothing good could come of this.

Her pain had risen to the surface and now she couldn't hold back the flood.

Scowling at her, Draco looked so alike the younger version of himself that a sob slid from her lips.

"Fuck's sake, Draco," she went on, pitchy and derisive, "after everything we've been through, what have I done for you to push me away now?"

He didn't answer.

Clapping a hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to stem the tears that now poured down her cheeks, the ragged breaths, the way she wanted to give in to her pain and simply dissolve.

"Tell me," she choked, then louder, "please, just fucking tell me!"

Still, Draco didn't respond. He stood rigid before her, and he might have been a statue for all he gave in return.

Another loud sob escaped her mouth and, frustrated, she pawed at the flow of tears.

But it was only once she looked at him through clear eyes that she saw his eyes were glassy too, their corners wet with moisture.

"I don't have any answers," he bit out at last.

"You must," she said hoarsely. "We were―everything was fine―"

"Everything hasn't been fine for a long time," he snapped, and the sudden outburst slammed into her like it carried physical force. "Nothing has been fucking fine."

And if she thought she had discovered the depths of her pain, she'd been wrong.

"You want to fucking pretend," he said, the words growing louder, tinged with the same desperation rushing through her veins, "be my guest. But I can't keep doing this―pretending like this is all going to work out, like we aren't just being great fucking idiots."

Hermione stared at him as every part of her shattered.

Draco shook his head, staring at her as though she might deny everything. He swiped a hand beneath one eye.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Head spinning, she watched as he strode for the door. Out of pure instinct, she chased him, catching his wrist before he could leave.

"That's not good enough," she hissed, and she didn't even know if it was anger or pain or sadness anymore. If it was some jumble of them all. Her voice rose once more. "You can't just walk away!"

He stared at her for another long moment, and she could see the tentative grasp on the threads of his emotion when it snapped, when he tore his hand from her grip.

"I can!" he shouted, lost of the composure he wore like a second skin. "Because I can't fucking―I don't know what to―" He wrenched at his hair, hard enough that it surely hurt. Another tear slid down his cheek as he ground out, "I'm so fucking in love with you I don't know what to do with myself!"

For a second, he blinked at her, as if surprised by his own words.

A breath caught in her throat.

But then he reached for the handle and was gone.

Chapter Text

Hermione laid awake for hours, alternating between devastation and a sort of catatonic shock. She longed to find Draco, but without knowing where he'd gone in a strange city, she would have no hope of that. And most likely he didn't want to be found.

He still hadn't returned by the time she eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

The next morning she awoke, scarcely rested at all, a bone-deep weariness cloaking her heart. A churning, nauseating pit in her stomach.

The bed next to hers was ruffled but empty, as if Draco had eventually returned to sleep but rose before her. Releasing a groan, she sank back into her pillow, scrubbing at sore eyes. Distantly, she could hear the shower running, and a part of her debated simply leaving while he was distracted.

But she couldn't imagine being so cowardly―despite the way they'd argued the night before.

Everything about it left her uncomfortable. From the way they'd spoken to each other―the irrationality of it―to his final, haunting words.

The devastation in his voice when he'd said he was in love with her. As if it were the worst possible thing―as if he didn't even care to consider that there might be something else between them some day. That the very thought of caring about her like that was something that had happened against his will.

It made any theoretical reciprocity she might possibly offer wither and die on her tongue.

And now, in the light of a fresh day, she could find only a cold, melancholy sort of spirit within her.

Gathering up the last of her possessions, she tucked them carefully into her suitcase. The work wasn't complex enough to banish the bleakness from her mind.

When Draco emerged from the loo in only low-slung jeans, scrubbing a towel through his wet hair, he stopped dead when he saw her awake.

They had been friends long enough for Hermione to know every side of him―and she could tell at a glance that he'd hardly slept any more than she had, if at all.

He cleared his throat, tossing the towel onto the wardrobe. "Good morning."

If she felt sheepish, he certainly sounded it. Surely, one bad fight wasn't enough to negate years of friendship. Of the pair of them being closer with each other than anyone else in their lives.

She couldn't let it.

So she dipped her chin into a tentative nod. "Morning."

He carried on across the room as though he hadn't stopped, and began haphazardly tossing items into his own bag. Shrugging on a t-shirt and mussing his fingers through his damp hair, he perched on the edge of the seat next to the bed.

"Sorry," he bit out. "About last night."

"It's okay." The words slid from her lips instinctively, though when she really thought about it, no part of this felt okay.

Draco hadn't looked at her―actually looked at her―since the night before. Dark shadows hung beneath his eyes, a stark contrast with his natural alabaster skin. And even though she couldn't bring herself to look him full on, she could imagine the eye roll.

"It isn't," he said quietly after a moment. "I wish I―well, maybe in time we can put this behind us."

She didn't know how to voice her fear that she wasn't certain it would be possible. Maybe they'd opened too many doorways the night before, and not all of them could be easily closed.

Staring hard at the bedspread, she swallowed. "We can try. If that's what you want." She recognised a cool distance in his words, a steely wall between the words he could give her and the ones she longed to hear. But still, she couldn't help but offer. "If you want to talk about it."

"Not really," he said softly, tucking the last of his things into his suitcase. "Not now. I... said some things last night that I regret."

She could still hear them in the back of her mind.

I'm so fucking in love with you I don't know what to do with myself.

It shouldn't hurt so much. Not only was he upset over the way he felt, but to insinuate that he regretted even telling her stung worse than anything else he had said to her.

Try as she might, she couldn't offer any sort of consolation. "I said some lousy things, too," she settled on at last.

She wanted to ask him why.

Why was he so opposed to the idea of something real between them? Why had he tried to push her off on his friend the night before? Why was he so adamant this was a bad thing?

But her heart couldn't handle another argument so soon after the last one. Not now, when it was so damn raw.

His gaze slid to the clock on the nightstand, and his only response was a dry, "We need to leave in a few minutes."

Her chest grew tight, and Hermione wondered if she would ever be able to breathe freely again. If the hurt of losing her best friend to something idiotic and miscalculated would ever dissipate. If she should just tell him how she felt―or if she would regret that, too.

Because she couldn't dash the ominous sense from within her that this was the end of something beautiful.

Securing her bag, she shrunk it to fit in her palm and tucked her possessions into a pocket as he did the same.

So much for Brussels being the trip they both needed.

Hermione thought of the framed photo on his desk―the one of the two of them in New Orleans, jubilant and carefree―and she wanted to sob. This trip had been nothing like that one.

This trip had gone wrong in so many ways.

Draco walked towards her, and all of a sudden, his closeness felt entirely different than it ever had. As if they shouldn't be so near to each other because now it meant something else. Especially because now she knew how he really felt about anything other than sex with her. It was all such a damn mess.

Without a word, he lifted the Portkey and offered his empty hand to her.

When she hesitated, his eyes finally snapped up to meet hers for the first time since she'd woken up. They were cool and empty, bloodshot and filled with a sort of sadness she couldn't place.

She was of half a mind to request he set the Portkey down so they could both touch it instead.

A hint of vulnerability hung in his gaze, and she caught the slight tremble in his hand when she slipped hers into it. If she hadn't been able to read his discomfort before, she could feel it in the way he gripped her hand.

She gave his hand a bit of a squeeze.

The tension dissolved, only a little, when he returned the gesture with more force than she'd anticipated. As if he didn't want to let go of her. As if he too realised that something had shattered between them the night before, and didn't know if they could repair it as it had been.

But then he shifted his hand, entwining his fingers with hers, and a pang of devastation darted through her as the Portkey began to glow blue and whisked them back to London.

In the days following their return from Brussels, Hermione hardly saw Draco.

She hardly saw anyone.

Her closest friend in the world buried himself in his work, and she only left the flat to go to the Ministry and back.

And all of the courage she'd prided herself on evaporated.

For so long, she had relied on him, believed that they could tell each other anything―that he would always be by her side. After all, their youth had been too tumultuous for anything else once they finally made their way to each other. A small, hidden part of her had always liked to think that maybe they were meant to find each other eventually.

But now she felt further away from him than ever.

All she could do in the days after returning home was replay those words over and over in her head. The raw anguish in his voice when he'd said he was in love with her. As though he would rather anything else be true.

It felt like a torturous sort of purgatory, wherein she longed so desperately to tell him how she felt about him―but she feared his rejection more than this cold distance he'd established between them where there had been nothing before.

She wanted to make an effort at something.

If he cared about her, surely, he would too.

But every time she opened her mouth, every time she fortified the fraying threads of her courage, all of her intent dissolved like a wisp on the wind. Because she couldn't tell him only for him to tell her no.

It was cowardly, and she knew it, but she could exist in this state of unknowing. At least for now. She had debated a thousand and one times whether she should ask if he wanted her to move out, but she was afraid he might say yes.

She could not exist in a state where he didn't want her anymore.

Where he wished they hadn't ever kissed that first fateful night. Where he had come to regret every touch that passed between them.

When she did see him, he looked tired and empty, the same sentiment she was certain he saw in her as well. His smiles were brisk and forced, and he should have known better than to think she would believe them.

Maybe he didn't know her as well as he'd always claimed.

Maybe she'd been the one to mess this up, but maybe it was a combination of the two of them.

The idea offered little solace.

The next time she came across Draco in the flat, he was seated at the kitchen table, an intimidating stack of paperwork spread before him.

Hermione released a low whistle. "What's all this?"

"Requests," he drawled without looking up. "I've had a million owls and memos since Brussels. Barnett's been burying me in work."

Her stomach twisted up even at the reference to it. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes." His mouth twitched. "But it's also bollocks."

Taking a tentative step closer, Hermione brushed her fingers across the nearest sheet of parchment absently. Draco's tight, tidy script filled almost every inch.

"Can I get you anything? Tea or a snack or something?"

He looked up from his work at last, his grey eyes settling on her. She hated the way butterflies erupted in her stomach at such a simple gesture. But his stare was almost painfully transparent in a way she hadn't seen since Brussels, and a furrow of sadness tugged at his brows.

"Tea would be wonderful. Thank you."

For a horrifying instant, Hermione thought she might cry.

Instead she nodded, and with a stuttering step into the kitchen, focused her attention on the menial task of preparing tea. Rifling through the basket of tea, she selected his favourite herbal blend and prepared two cups before wedging a coaster into the mountain of work before him and setting one cup on top.

"Thank you," he said again, voice soft. When Hermione lingered near the table, he gestured towards the nearest seat. "I realise this isn't exactly interesting, but you're welcome to stay if you like."

The offer was altogether too hesitant from him, when he so rarely faltered in anything. And it was that more than anything that had her drawing the seat out and slipping into it.

Cradling her tea between both hands, she smiled.

Draco had made modest progress on his work by the time it grew late and they both gave up in stifling their yawns. They'd ordered dinner from a local place a couple hours earlier, and while the evening was composed largely of silence, there was a sort of comfort in it that she hadn't felt in days.

Longer, if she was honest.

She'd been wrapped up in a conflicting storm of emotion for longer than she had initially realised, and it was only upon further reflection that she was able to dissect the way she had been falling for him for a long time.

And there was something now to be said about the fact that she was no longer trying to keep up the pretence with herself.

That they weren't at a good place, but maybe there was a chance that it could be okay again.

Or she was simply fooling herself, and the longer they remained in this strange sort of limbo, the worse it would inevitably grow.

The unexpected hint that things might one day be okay between them offered a small shred of courage. "Can I ask you something?"

Draco laid down his quill. "Go for it."

"Are we..." She hesitated, cheeks heating under his gaze. "Are we okay?"

Maybe a part of her hoped he might dismiss her concerns; that he would offer an easy and instant, Of course we are. But he frowned, scrubbing a hand along the stubble coating his jaw.

"I don't know."

Hermione nodded, and despite that she knew the same to be true in her heart, she couldn't help the way it stung. But she didn't know if she would find the strength to bring it up again.

So she blew out a breath. "What you said in Brussels... that night."

He stiffened.

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Did you mean it?"

She didn't have to elaborate or clarify―she knew him better than that. The words that replayed over and over in her mind were likely on repeat in his as well.

When he finally spoke, the words were careful and measured and so at odds with the Draco she had come to know and love. "It has never been my intention to make you uncomfortable. To cross any lines between us."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the way her heart raced an uneasy cadence at the thought that she could be encouraging the whole house of cards to collapse, she snickered. "What lines?"

A wry ghost of a smirk. "The emotional ones."

And just as quickly, her amusement evaporated once more. "It's okay, you know."

The sudden escalation in her pulse was so loud, adrenaline flooding her veins, and she had to focus to be sure she wouldn't miss his next words.

"It isn't," he returned quietly, and though Hermione thought she could handle the sting of his disinterest by now, it still hurt. "I feel like... I don't know, Hermione. Like I've betrayed your friendship. Like we've been on the same page for so long, and now I've just gone and..." He wrenched a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

The shadows beneath his eyes had been more pronounced, his beautiful grey eyes bloodshot and strained. And now she could see it clearer than ever. That he was genuinely dismayed over this.

"And what?"

His chest was so still she wondered if he was even breathing.

"And I've ruined everything. I've ruined us."

Surprise bloomed within her, and it was all she could think of for a long moment as she stared at him. "Why would you think that?"

Draco rolled his eyes, the first trace of his old mocking derision she'd seen all night. All week.

"Because that was never part of the deal."

"There was no deal."

"Sure there was." Glancing away, he began to assemble his paperwork into a stack, though she could see the slight tremble in his fingers. "The deal was sex and we both knew that."

Then she had most certainly blown her end of the deal too, if that's what they'd been operating on. And they had. For years, whenever neither of them were seeing anyone else, they'd fallen back into bed.

She had never allowed herself to entertain anything more, because to see him with someone else would have hurt too much otherwise.

Above all, she wanted him to be happy.

"I guess we did," she murmured at last. "But maybe sometimes things change."

His eyes snapped up to her so fast it might have been comical if the situation didn't feel so precarious. As though her entire future could rest on how this one conversation went―and it very well might.

"What do you mean?"

She finally asked the question she'd been dreading. "Do you want me to move out?"

"I don't," he said, "but I don't want you to feel trapped here if you'd rather not stay. I'll understand if you want to leave."

"I don't want to leave."

Something soft and beautiful and tentative warmed his eyes, only for a moment. "Look, Hermione. I've always wanted us to be friends more than anything. And I can't handle the thought that my actions might have destroyed the most important relationship in my life. So maybe it's best if we just try to take a step back."

"A step back," she echoed, her heart sinking with dismay. "So you don't have feelings for me."

If they were talking about this now, she couldn't let the chance go by.

He glanced away. "Any feelings I might have are irrelevant because I'm not willing to give you up."

A breath snagged in her throat, and all at once, his reticence began to make sense. Hope planted a seed within her that began to sprout. Maybe it wasn't that he didn't want to care about her. But Draco Malfoy had learned early in life to master and contain his feelings.

"What if," she breathed, "it's all relevant? And neither of us has to give up anything."

His eyes landed on hers again. "What?"

Her pulse hammered wildly behind her ears as she reached out, resting her hand on top of his, and she whispered, "What if it's both of us?" She swallowed. "What if I'm in love with you, too?"

Draco's lips parted in surprise, and though his gaze was hard on hers, he didn't speak. A myriad of emotions traversed his expression, until finally, he shook his head. "You can't mean it."

A sudden burst of laughter broke free. "For someone who says you know me better than anyone, you're being awfully obtuse."

"Am not," he bit out with a grimace. "There's just no way. You and I both know you're too good for me."

"We know no such thing," she whispered. "I'm serious, Draco. I don't... I can't handle the thought of you walking away after everything we've been through. I don't want to lose you either, and I know this is scary and if you'd rather not take a real shot at this, I'll understand and I'll do my best to be okay with it. Your friendship means so much to me. But I can't deny any longer that I want more."

"More," he choked out, like the word carried so much. Like it stretched out and filled the distance between them.

Hermione nodded. "More."

He swallowed, faintly audible, and then released a loud breath as though he'd reached a decision. "I'm taking you on a date."

"A date." The words fell from her lips in a relieved sort of mirth. "That was quick."

"It really wasn't," he drawled. "Not when I've thought about it a thousand times."

The quiet, understated admission struck some part of her that had vacillated between fear and despair for days and weeks, and had worried about his rejection. It felt like the dawning of a revelation within her, and tears spiked at the corners of her eyes.

"Alright. Then let's go on a date."

A smile drew at the corner of his mouth. "I'll pick you up Friday at seven."

"We live in the same flat."

"Humour me," he mused with a smirk. "If we're doing this, we're doing it right."

Suddenly, she couldn't control the pure joy that swelled within her and she didn't want to. She grinned at him. "Okay. Let's do it."

At once, Draco leaned over and kissed her with a surprising fervour, and for the first time, she allowed herself to fall into it without reservation. His touch was soft, reverent, his mouth on hers a quiet promise.

When he drew back, his hand lingered on her face. His expression was serious. "I am kissing you all the time now."

Hermione thought her heart might simply burst in light of the warmth racing between them. "Please do."

Chapter Text

Friday loomed over her in an instant, and Hermione hardly noticed the week sliding past.

It felt strange to consider the idea of going on a date, when she and Draco had spent so much of their time together for years. The thought of doing something they'd never done felt out of reach.

When she really dwelled on it, they had, in a way, been informally dating for much of their friendship. The evenings out, the trips away, the casual downtime.

But this felt different.

The conversation they'd shared earlier in the week burst through the awkwardness that lingered since Brussels, and Hermione couldn't have been more relieved when they slid, almost seamlessly, back into their typical dynamic.

Draco had been insistent, however, that they wait for their date before anything else.

It was the longest they'd gone without having sex in over a year, and anticipation built within her in a way she hadn't expected.

All week, he had eyed her with a quietly simmering enthusiasm.

True to his word, Draco left the flat Friday afternoon with a brief announcement that he would be by shortly before seven to pick her up. It was ridiculous and unlike him to act in such a whimsical way, and it served to spur on her own excitement as a result.

So many aspects of the situation felt different than any date she'd ever been on―any relationship she'd ever had.

Because Draco already knew every part of her, inside and out. He had seen her at her best and her worst. He'd shared in her delight and witnessed her tears. And still, he wanted her.

It was the predominant thought resonating in the back of her mind all week.

That despite all of it, he wanted her.

And she wanted him―more than she ever thought herself capable of wanting another human being in her life.

But she wanted every part of Draco Malfoy that he was willing to share with her―and she had seen the extent of that over the years. It was a heady thought.

As seven o'clock approached, nerves began to creep in. Maybe his expectations would be different if they tried to make this into something official. Maybe theirs simply wasn't a relationship that worked in the light of day. And no matter how they felt about each other, there was still a chance this wouldn't work out.

At the end of the day, they could still end up ruining their friendship in the attempt.

And Hermione couldn't handle the thought of that happening. He had been willing to give up everything to prevent it.

She wore a dress that she'd picked out for the occasion―one he hadn't seen her wear yet―and she fidgeted with the cuffs of her cardigan as she perched on the edge of the sofa to wait. She knew better than to think Draco would show up late.

A quiet knock came on the door of the flat, and despite that she was expecting it, she still jumped a little in surprise.

Unable to fight the smile curling her lips, she walked to the door and swung it open.

Draco leaned on the threshold, a chunk of hair falling in his eyes as he observed her for a long moment. Her heart rioted in her chest as she drank him in. Dark jeans, a black button down with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a silver tie.

A smile warmed his face as he drawled, "Hello."

"Hi." Hermione stepped back from the entrance and he slipped into their flat, peering around with interest as though he didn't own the place. Latching into the game, she glanced at her watch. "You're a little early―I'm afraid I'm not quite ready."

His gaze slid the length of her―shoes and coat on, purse slung around one arm. Dipping his chin in a nod, he said mildly, "I don't mind."

Merlin, the shirt clung to his biceps in a way that made her want to drag him into her room, date be damned. It didn't help matters that he had kept them both deliberately celibate since asking her on a proper date.

Brightness glinted in his eyes as they didn't shift from her. She waited on the spot for a moment then offered a thin smile, brandishing her hands. "I'm ready."

"Perfect," Draco said with a grin. "I've been looking forward to this."

She didn't even know how to put words to her anticipation. To her feelings. To any of it.

So she gave him a demure smile in return and offered her hand for Apparition. "What are we doing tonight?"

"We have a reservation," he said, taking a step closer. "And I thought we might take a look at a book display."

Hermione thinned her lips, lifted her brows, and linked her hand with his. "It sounds lovely." While it truly did, they went out for dinner all the time, and they regularly dragged each other to Flourish and Blotts. None of it explained the spark in his stare. The poorly concealed smirk.

But when he slid his other hand into his pocket, it wasn't the familiar sensation of Apparition she felt.

It was the unexpected tug of a Portkey.

"Forgot to mention," Draco drawled when they landed abruptly in an alley next to a busy street, the sun high in the sky. "The reservation is for lunch in New York."

Hermione turned to face him, gaping, and a bright burst of laughter escaped her lips. "New York," she echoed.

He didn't release her hand and dragged her flush against him. Gazing down at her, he nodded. "Yeah. I thought a change of scenery might be nice." He glanced at his watch as though there was nothing unusual about him taking her across the world for lunch. Then he added, "Oh, and the display is at one of my favourite rare book dealers."

When he tugged her hand, making for the road, her mouth fell open. "It's what?"

"Oh," he said, "I'm sorry if I was unclear."

"You were plenty clear," she choked.

Draco offered a polite, banal smile. "Then we ought to get moving. Our reservation is five minutes from now."

Planting her feet and tightening her hand, she narrowed her eyes. "What are you doing? I don't need you to do anything extravagant."

"Yes," he said, some of the facade at last dropping from his expression as his gaze on her sobered. "I know you don't. But you agreed to let me take you on a date."

Her heart fluttered in her chest, as it had done all week when she so much as thought the word. He was close enough that she could push up on her toes and capture his mouth in a kiss, but she just barely managed to refrain. A part of her was afraid they might not make it to any part of the nice date he'd planned.

Before she could say anything, he added a low, "You never specified the parameters of the date."

"You do realise, then," she said quietly, "that you're setting an awfully high standard for the future."

"I'm fine with that." He ducked his chin, considering her. "And if that means you'll go on more dates with me, then I don't care."

Emotion swelled within her, moisture threatening to spike at the corners of her eyes. "Why go to such lengths when you knew I would be happy doing anything with you?"

He reached out, tucking a curl behind her ear, and brushed his fingertips along her cheekbone before drawing back. "If you knew," he said quietly, "how long I've wanted to take you on a proper date, you wouldn't ask that."

Hermione didn't trust herself to speak lest she break down. She only gave his hand a squeeze and nodded.

He tugged her in for a brief kiss moments before she felt the pull of Apparition.

Following a delicious meal of the best tapas she'd ever tasted, Hermione found herself back on the bustling streets of New York City, alive with people and noise. She and Draco had done some extravagant things before―this felt entirely different.

This felt like both a test and an elevation. Like everything they'd done before had been various stages of a rehearsal, and this was finally the real thing.

The thought stirred so much emotion within her―beyond what she could reasonably comprehend―and more than once, she'd had to blink back tears.

She could admit to herself now that she'd been fighting off her own feelings for him for longer than she'd even realised at first. Knowing he felt the same left her both off guard and desperate to chase down the thrill.

He took her to the bookshop after they'd explored a few iconic streets with the promise that they would come back.

And Hermione found herself overwhelmed again in the face of the books.

Books and books and books. Rare editions and antiques and books autographed by the authors. Priceless books. She couldn't look everywhere at once, and it simply wasn't enough to take it all in.

"I thought we ought to come here," Draco said quietly as she stared, wide-eyed, around the shop, "as I have some shop credit from a recent trade and I thought you could help me."

She felt light-headed.

She knew Draco sometimes purchased rare books, but a combination of envy and frugality had kept her from asking too many questions. A part of her knew it was a door she couldn't close again now that she had seen the shop with her own eyes, but she didn't have the funds for such an expensive hobby.

Even now, she felt out of place in the shop despite the fact that Draco clearly knew the owner.

"Please pick out what you like," he said quietly, ducking closer. "I've wanted to get you something for a while but didn't know what you would like best."

Despite her own natural reservations on spending his money, her fingers twitched as she skimmed the shelves. Finally, she allowed herself a small smile and a quiet, "Okay."

Although they left New York towards the late afternoon, it was already well into the evening in London. It might have been jarring had Hermione paid much attention to her surroundings.

As it was, her focus had scarcely wavered from the man at her side.

As a friend, Draco was loyal and amusing and intellectual enough that they never ran out of things to talk about. As a date, he was so much more.

She had spent most of their time together beaming, warmth and joy coursing through her as one. She couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so much.

The hours spent together slipped away like water through her palms, as if she had blinked and the time was gone. No date she had ever been on had held her attention in such a way.

But Draco had her enraptured.

Hermione wasn't surprised, given the way she had come to care for him in so many ways, but now she felt almost giddy with anticipation. Maybe they could make something real of this after all and it wasn't just a mistake in judgement as she had started to fear.

As they walked the streets, he held her hand. Kissed her cheek. Pulled her close.

And even though they were in another city, another country altogether, it was liberating. To know that he wanted to be seen with her―that he wanted to spend his time with her as much as she did him. That they could make a true shot at something beyond friendship.

When she really dug for the truth within herself she had tried to deny, they'd been more than friends for a long time now.

A part of her still feared that this could go wrong. That they might push the boundaries too far at last, and there would be no way to recover the friendship they'd coveted for so long. That, in losing a dating relationship, she would lose her closest friendship as well.

Draco drew her into a deep kiss when their Portkey delivered them back into the flat, backing her into the wall. And as she tugged him closer, bringing him tight against her, so many of her doubts dissipated in an instant.

They'd always had physical chemistry. She had never doubted that.

She feared they wouldn't connect on a deeper level.

But... they'd always done that, too. Ever since they had learned to communicate, albeit with a lot more animosity, during their eighth year at Hogwarts.

She had longed to kiss him properly all day―all week―and now, a moan slid from her throat as he gave her arse a squeeze, bringing their hips into contact, and she could tell he was as keen for this as she was.

For as much as she wanted to sink into his embrace and surrender to the heat between them, she drew back.

Biting down on her lower lip, she eyed him. "Why?" she asked, watching his expression sober. "Why not tell me?"

Draco considered her for long enough that she had to fight the urge to fidget. "Because I didn't want to ruin what we had," he said at last. "Because you mean more to me than I cared to risk."

The words pressed in on her chest. "And now?"

"Now..." He shrugged. "You told me you felt the same way."

"I do," she breathed, fingers curling around his tie as if for support. "But we've been messing around for so long. I thought you just didn't want anything else."

"Hermione." Draco smoothed his hands down her arms, holding her stare. "I'm selfish. I know you know that. I've told myself a million times to walk away―to let you move on to properly meet someone. But I couldn't handle the thought of that, and I was willing to take whatever you were willing to offer."

"I guess I felt the same," she whispered as she considered the words. Then she shook her head. "I always thought... well, you've always told me you didn't want a girlfriend."

A self-deprecating twist pulled at his mouth. "Which part of 'I'm in love with you' was unclear?"

"The part where you thought I didn't want you back."

Draco took a step back, lowering his chin as he stared at her. "You can do better than me. I have a lot of rough edges and a bad past. I've never wanted to shackle you to me."

"I want you," she whispered, "rough edges and all. Because you deal with all my sharp ones."

He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her brow, and murmured, "I love your sharp edges." Another kiss to her jaw. "I didn't want anyone else as a girlfriend because no one else is you."

The words struck her like they carried weight. All along, she'd been afraid to reach for something more because she thought he didn't want her like that. The truth was a sobering discovery.

"And..." She drew in a shuddering breath, a tremble coming into her hands. "And what if this doesn't work out now? What if we were better off as friends and we ruin everything?"

"I've thought of that, too," he admitted. "But we've made this work for as long as we have without trying."

The simplicity of the sentiment struck her hard in the chest―the implications behind it―and a sudden wave of relief washed through her.

A smile tugged at her mouth. "And now we're trying."

"That isn't to say things will be perfect, of course," he added, tugging her hand into his from where it hung at her side. "And I'm sure some days you'll still want to rip my hair out."

"Probably," Hermione whispered. "And you'll want to kick me out of the flat."

Smirking, he pressed a kiss to her mouth. "Probably. But I won't."

Somehow, the ease of the conversation chased away so much of the tension she'd carried all week. Her fears that they might be making a terrible mistake. That all of this would crumble down around her and leave her with nothing at all.

"I want to make this work," he said quietly. "And I think you do, too. We've got a head start on a lot of things because we know each other so well."

"Yes," she breathed, swallowing. She met his eyes. The words slid from her lips, at once foreign and familiar. "I love you."

His grey eyes shone with brightness and moisture. "I love you, too. And that's why I think we can do this."

Hearing him speak the words filled her with something immeasurable and profound.

A long moment passed, comfortable in its silence, as they stared at each other.

It felt like coming home, because for so long, he had been her home.

It felt right.

Pressing up on her toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him into a tight embrace. He was her best friend, the person who meant the most to her in the world, and now, he could be everything. A true partner in life.

She only realised she was crying when he pulled back, brushing a tear from her cheek. Abashed, she smiled at him through the tears and whispered, "I had a wonderful time on our date."

"So did I," Draco said, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

Although they had usually refrained, now she felt like she would never get enough of his kisses. This new subtle warmth that hung between them, different from anything else. She tried to quell the thoughts that they had lost so much time together in favour of embracing what now laid ahead.

Dropping her head to the side as his kisses trailed along her jaw, the column of her neck, the bare skin of her shoulder, she smiled.

Maybe some small, repressed part of her had always wondered whether this might be inevitable.

Draco slid the strap of her dress around the curve of her shoulder, fingertips drifting along her arm. Reached for the zip, dragging it down slowly and smoothing a hand along the bare skin of her back.

She wanted to surrender to the energy dancing between them. To indulge every part of her that longed for every part of him. To never again hold back from allowing herself to truly care for him.

He kissed her again, and when they drew apart, his grey eyes flashed in a way she knew well.

Hermione didn't think she would ever tire of him.

When he dragged her in the direction of his room, the pair of them hardly able to keep their hands and mouths from each other. When he stared at her, eyes alight in the darkened room. When he stripped her bare.

She longed to savour every moment of this. They'd had sex more times and in more ways than she could count, but this felt like a first.

The gentle reverence of his hands on her flesh, as though she might shatter under his touch. The glimmer of emotion in his gaze, so potent she wondered how she missed it before. The slow, thorough exploration of her body as if he didn't already have every inch of her memorised.

And all Hermione knew was the clamour of her pulse, the tightness in her chest, the unhindered flow of desire and feeling within her.

If she thought she had known what could exist between them before, she had been wrong.

No part of her wanted to go back to a place where she didn't know this side of him.

She couldn't get enough of the moment, their bare bodies flush under the light of the moon, his mouth on her skin, and she reached for him, her heart so unbearably tight she thought she might simply burst.

Draco stared down at her, coiling a loose curl around his finger, a soft smile tugging at his mouth. "You're fucking gorgeous," he said, pressing a kiss to her lips. Tightened his hold around her hip. "Did you know that?"

"No flattery necessary," she mused, arching towards him, basking in the feel of his touch. "But I do appreciate it."

His grin widened as his fingers found her centre, teasing her clit. "Get used to it. I have years to make up for."

A whimper slid from her throat. "No complaints here." She drew his mouth back to hers, the taste of him so intoxicating she thought she might never stop kissing him. "As long as you realise it goes both ways."

He preened as she took him in her palm with even, gentle strokes, grey eyes flashing with lust.

With the barest truth laid before them, everything deepened.

The warmth of his breath on her skin. How he relaxed under her touch, the space between them vanishing until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began. How her head spun with delirium when he positioned himself at her entrance and slid home.

And it wasn't like any time before.

His name fell from her lips as a breathless oath, rapturous and reverent, a promise.

He took her with care, again and again, mouths and hands searching. There was something gentle about it, lazy and indulgent, as though they had all the time in the world.

Now, she supposed, they did. She didn't want any more unspoken evasions or half-truths between them. Not now that she knew how much she cared.

She could see in his eyes how deep it ran.

Again, she wondered how she had never seen it before.

She arched from the bed, taking him deeper into her with each thrust, each quiet moan from her lips. Raked her fingers through his hair, down his shoulders, drawing him closer until no space remained.

She still couldn't get enough.

She thought she might never have enough.

Driving into her harder, faster, but with that same newly familiar care, Draco kissed her neck, her jaw, her cheek. Breathed her name against her skin. And when he met her mouth in another kiss, all heat and desperation and something that tasted like forever.

When she broke, it was in waves and all at once, a cascade of pleasure as he followed her over the edge. Overwhelming and all-encompassing―but a quiet serenity settled over her in the moments after.

A sleepy smile touched her lips as he laid at her side, a damp sheen to his brow, and she trailed her fingers along the line of his jaw. Memorised every sharp line of him. The vibrancy of his eyes as he drank her in like he wanted to remember this moment.

"I never want to let you go," she breathed, brushing a whisper of a kiss to his mouth.

"Good," Draco returned, "because you're stuck with me." Then that slow, teasing smirk began in his eyes, lifting one corner of his mouth.

She stifled a yawn as he drew her close. "That doesn't sound so bad."

"No. It doesn't." His arms tightened around her.

When she thought about it, he was who she wanted. This was what she wanted.

The prospect of something real between them loomed before her, infinite and resplendent―the very core of everything that had carried her to this point. He had been the most important person in her life for as long as she could remember. She never wanted that to change.

It didn't sound bad at all.

Tucking herself into his chest as he dragged the covers over them both, she allowed her eyelids to flutter.

It sounded like everything.